Michael placed the buckets of water on the bench in Agatha’s hallway and began to leave, but the elderly lady held him by the sleeve, signaling for him to follow her inside. He sat down on a wide bench near the door, awaiting her further instructions.
Silently, the host pulled a pot from the oven, gestured towards the clock, indicating it was time for lunch, and poured some cabbage soup into a large bowl. She served it with a slice of pork fat, an onion, and a crusty piece of bread. Then, remembering something, she added a quarter bottle of homemade whiskey. Although the house was warm, she wore wool boots and a shawl wrapped around her bent back.
In a quiet voice, Michael said, “I won’t say no to that soup, but I won’t drink. I vowed not to touch it, even told Father himself, after the last ruckus I caused in the club from being jealous over Veronica. I’m surprised I wasn’t locked up for that one. I had to pay for the broken chairs, too. Anyway, Mum said you hurt your back, that’s why I brought you the water. After the soup, I’ll bring in some wood. Maybe there’s some other work I can help with as well. My mum, the moment she sees me sitting by the TV, she finds me something to do.”
Michael chuckled at his own joke and ended up choking. Agatha began to pat his back vigorously, as if she were hammering a nail into the wall. Once he recovered, he continued eating and asked, “Granny, when you go to bed, does your back straighten out, or do you have to lie like a bow?” Agatha looked at Michael with blue eyes squinted in a smile and waved him off.
“You must have been quite the beauty in your youth,” Michael noted, “with that thick hair and brows perfectly arched. No wonder your eyes, like glowworms, probably shone at night. My Veronica is pretty, too! Honestly, who wouldn’t love her? Let me list her qualities for you – bet you won’t have enough fingers: beautiful, dignified, modest, kind, hard-working, neat, frugal, great singer, graceful dancer, not greedy, hasn’t married, won’t drink, won’t smoke, and doesn’t fool around.”
Michael saw the laughter shining in Agatha’s eyes. Her chest shook with suppressed laughter, though no voice emerged. He thought to himself, how bright and clear her eyes are, far beyond her years. “Granny, you know Veronica, right?” he asked, as Agatha shrugged, hands out, indicating she didn’t really know the young folks these days, whether they were good or bad.
“Oh, we’re nothing like your generation. You listened to your parents, and we just mouth off and rush ahead, even before our folks get to speak. We’ve got opinions on everything. My dad consults me before making decisions, and mum treats me like the head of the house. All my brothers have scattered to different cities. I’m the youngest, and until I marry, I’ll stay with them. I want to get married and have lots of kids. Veronica’s strong, she’ll manage plenty, as I say as a vet.”
Michael’s tummy was full, and the warmth of the house made him drowsy. For someone with a bad back, Agatha kept her home spotless. The large bed with its plush comforter, pillows stacked to the ceiling, caught his eye.
Out loud, he mused, “Wouldn’t mind such a bed on my wedding night! Then again, I might just cook in that feather bed and forget everything else.” Continuing, he said, “Once Veronica finishes her studies and comes back, we’ll throw a wedding. She’s studying to be a nurse. Imagine, I treat animals; she’ll treat people. Though Mum jokes she calls Dad an animal sometimes. Honestly, we’re not much better than animals really. Did you hear about Stephen? He stole Peter’s motorbike and dumped it in the lake. Isn’t that wild? Or Victor, burning down the hayloft by smoking there. Unbelievable!”
“The worst, though, was Simon. He was seeing Nadia, got her pregnant, and then brought a bride from the city. Nadia went out of her mind for a while, we thought she’d do something drastic. Now she’s smiling and saying she’s having a boy, a gift from God. I wonder how that rogue will walk by knowing his child is in that house. But I’ll never leave Veronica. I look at her and want to embrace her so tightly! But she’s such a modest girl, waiting till marriage. That wedding will draw the line—she won’t cross it until then. She’s become such a great nurse, she’ll fix your back in no time! Gives painless injections, barely a prick. I often think, when we get a house of our own, I’ll miss you, Granny, living farther away. But don’t worry, I’ll always find time to help and chat with you. Got anything else to try?”
Agatha quickly grabbed a pot holder and retrieved a dish of meat and spiced grains. The aroma from the kitchen made Michael sniff enthusiastically, nearly twisting his nose off. He banged a spoon on the table like a child. Agatha beamed, happy that her cooking was appreciated by the young man.
“You could lie on the bed while I eat, is it just for show? We’ll make use of it with Veronica,” he laughed. He choked again, but Agatha didn’t hit his back. She wanted to thank him for his kind words, for sharing a laugh, for not rushing home, and for spending time with her. Gently, she patted his back with her rough, calloused hands, then gave him a peck on the top of his head.
Michael rose from the table, saying, “How am I supposed to work on a full stomach? Best to rest on that bed, I reckon.” He laughed and headed outside. He fetched several bundles of firewood, swept the porch, checked the pig’s pen, bowed in respect to the hostess, and went home.
“Where did you disappear to? Veronica called nonstop, couldn’t you stop chatting with Agatha?” his mother joked. “Oh, she always wants to hear stories,” he laughed back. “Mum, has she been mute from birth?” “No, son. She was a singer during the war, like Lynn Anderson. She sang patriotic songs going from house to house. When the Germans came and caught her singing ‘The Sacred War’ as they had rebels hanging, they cut out her tongue. She was saved before they could finish the job. We thought a mute girl had settled in, but the chairman shared her story recently. Her old village was dying out, so they helped her get a house in our thriving village.”
“You know, Mum, we can be worse than animals. We hide in our homes, ignoring others’ needs. Mute she might be, but she understands everything.”
“She talks with her eyes, Mum! I mentioned Veronica, and she lit up. I told her about Simon, and lightning flashed from her eyes! And her hands, gentle as they come, caress like few others. Who is she to me, really? No one. Yet I’m drawn to share my thoughts with her.”
“And you know why? Because she connects with people through kindness and soul, Mum. She doesn’t gesture wildly like those born mute. It’s like she’s not mute, just thoughtful. I promised to fix something in her shed tomorrow; she asked so nicely. So don’t find me extra work. I’ll be busy.”
