Michael set the buckets of water down on Agatha’s porch bench and was about to leave when the old lady tugged at his sleeve, signaling for him to follow her inside. He sat on the broad bench near the door, waiting for her further instructions.
Saying nothing, the hostess retrieved a pot from the oven, gesturing towards the clock to indicate it was time for lunch. She filled a large bowl with cabbage soup, accompanied by a slice of bacon, an onion, and a crust of freshly baked bread. Then she remembered and brought out a small bottle of homemade liquor. Her stooped back was wrapped in a woolen shawl, and though warm inside, she wore sturdy boots.
Michael softly commented, “I won’t say no to the soup, but I’ll pass on the drink. I’ve sworn off it; I told the priest I wouldn’t touch the stuff again. Last time, I got into a brawl at the community hall out of drunken jealousy over Vera, and it’s a wonder I didn’t end up in jail. I even had to pay for the broken chairs. My mum said your back was troubling you, so I came by with water. I’ll enjoy the soup and then bring in some firewood. Perhaps you have more tasks for me. My mum, as soon as she sees me sit by the TV, acts like she’s pulling jobs out of thin air for me.”
Michael chuckled at his own wit, almost choking, and Agatha pounded his back like she was hammering a nail. He resumed eating the soup with bacon and onion, then asked, “Granny, when you lie down to sleep, does your back straighten or do you still curl up?”
Agatha looked at Michael, her blue eyes squinting with a smile, and waved her hand dismissively.
“I bet you were a beauty in your youth, with that head of hair and those arching brows over a wide forehead, and eyes that likely sparkled like fireflies at night. My Vera is just as lovely! Surely you’d agree, how can one not love her? Let me count her qualities, and you can tick them off: beautiful, graceful, modest, kind, hard-working, tidy, thrifty, sings well, dances beautifully, not greedy, never been married, doesn’t drink or smoke, well, you see how many virtues!”
Michael noticed Agatha’s eyes twinkling with amusement, her chest shook with silent laughter, but no sound came out.
“But oh, what clear eyes she has, bright for her years!” Michael remarked. “Granny, you know Vera, don’t you?”
Agatha shrugged, lifting her shoulders as if to say, “Who can tell with you young folks.”
“Of course, we’re different from your generation. You all feared your parents and obeyed. We voice out if things aren’t our way. Dad consults with me before decisions, and mum sees me as the head now my brothers have scattered to towns. I’m the youngest, staying home till I marry. I want a big family. Vera is strong and, as a vet, I’d say she could have as many kids as can arrive. Oh, and she’s healthy. Are your fingers enough to count her virtues? I didn’t think so!”
Michael was content, his full belly from the warmth of the fire made him drowsy. Even though Agatha’s back was sore, her home was immaculate, the large bed particularly stood out with its plump mattress, pillows piled high, and fluffy bedspread.
Michael dreamed aloud, “One of those beds on my wedding night would be grand! Or maybe not, you’d melt away in that featherbed and forget all your tasks.”
Then he said aloud, “Once Vera’s done with her studies and comes back, we’ll have a big wedding. She’s training to be a nurse. How perfect is that? I take care of animals, she’ll take care of people! Though mum often refers to dad as the cattle. Truthfully, we can be worse than livestock. You heard about Stephen hijacking Peter’s bike and sinking it in the lake. What a fool! Or Victor, who nearly burnt down the barn smoking in the hayloft. Foolishness!”
But the worst fool was Sergey, who courted Nadia, duped her, got her pregnant, then returned from the city with a bride. Nadia went out of her mind, we feared she might harm herself. Yet yesterday, there she was, belly first, glowing, saying a boy was a blessing from God. And I wondered how this fool could walk past her house knowing his son lived there. I’ll never leave Vera! I want to hold her so tightly she melts into me. But she’s proper, no touching before the wedding. That boundary is set, and even I won’t cross it forcibly. Vera the nurse will have your back sorted! She gives injections so gently, not even a mosquito would sting worse. I worry though, when we get the new house from the farm, I’ll miss you; we won’t be neighbors. But don’t worry, I’ll always find time to help and chat. What else can I try here?”
Agatha busily fetched another dish: a pot of savory beef stew. The aroma was mouthwatering! Michael inhaled deeply, nearly twisting his nose, and rhythmically tapped his spoon like a child. Agatha beamed; her dishes delighted the young man.
“Rest on that featherbed while I eat, or is it just for show? We’ll use it somehow with Vera.”
Michael choked again, but Agatha didn’t smack his back. She wanted to thank him for his cheerful company, for talking with her and not rushing home. She patted his back lightly with her rough, calloused hands, then kissed the crown of his head.
Michael left the table, remarking, “How am I supposed to work with a full belly? This calls for a nap on a featherbed!”
Laughing, he headed to the yard. He brought in several logs, swept the porch, checked on the pig in the pen, bowed in gratitude to the hostess, and headed for home.
“Where’ve you been? Vera’s called a million times, while you talk endlessly to Agatha?”
“Oh, can’t leave her, Mum! Always asking this and that,” he laughed. “Mum, was she always mute?”
“No, love. As a girl, she sang during the war like some well-known singers, going house to house with patriotic songs. When the Germans came, she sang ‘The Sacred War’ while they hanged partisans, and they cut out her tongue. The partisans saved her before she was shot. We all thought the mute woman had always lived here, but the headman told us her village dwindled, ours thrives, so the recruitment office helped her settle here. It’s true, we can be worse than livestock. We nest in our own homes, caring little for others. She might be mute, but she understands everything.”
“Mum, she speaks with her eyes! I talked about Vera, she lit up! When I mentioned Sergey, her eyes sparked like lightning! You know, her hands are gentle. Seems strange, who is she to me? But I want to talk and share with her.”
“You know why? Because she’s kind, conversing through spirit. Mum, she doesn’t use hand gestures like other mutes; she’s more thoughtful than mute. I said I’d help her in the shed tomorrow, she really asked. I’ll be there, so don’t invent tasks for me—I’ll be busy.”
