“Hello! I’m here about the room for rent!”
Standing at the doorstep of Joanna Smith’s apartment was a typical “plain Jane”: she wore some worn-out jeans, a faded t-shirt, and her well-worn sneakers were nothing to brag about either. She clutched a bag that was just as unimpressive. Her blond, wavy hair was pulled back into a simple ponytail. Her face was free of makeup. The only thing that drew any attention to this “pale shadow” were her eyes—enormous, blue, and clear.
After a good look at the girl, Joanna Smith nodded, “Come in!”
“Here’s the deal, my dear: no wasting electricity, don’t let water run unnecessarily, be economical, understood? And keep everything tidy! No guests allowed! Any questions?”
The girl smiled and nodded, “Yes, I understand!”
“Agreeable,” thought Joanna. “A rare find these days… She’s clearly from the countryside.”
Further conversation revealed her name was Elizabeth, and she was indeed from a village, where her family had their own farm. She had come to study veterinary science.
“Got it! Curing pigs, are we?” Joanna concluded.
Elizabeth showed no sign of offence, merely smiled, “Yes, pigs, cows, horses, as well as cats and dogs—everything! Animals need care too.”
“Right, right! We don’t have anyone to cure people around here, but pigs—sure thing!” Joanna remarked with genuine indignation.
In general, the tenant made a nice impression on Joanna: modest, not cheeky, quiet, obedient, tidy—she’d clean up the flat, cook for herself, and even offer her landlady a taste.
Particularly, Elizabeth’s pancakes were a marvel: appetizing, thin as cigarette paper, porous and golden brown. Joanna’s hand would automatically reach for them! They were a culinary wonder that melted in the mouth before even reaching the stomach.
Joanna Smith and Elizabeth could even be called friends, spending evenings together over a cup of tea.
And everything might have gone well, with Elizabeth finishing her studies while living in Joanna’s rented apartment, but then Joanna’s son, Michael, returned home after half a year away working the oil rigs up north. A strong young man, even a handsome one (“just like his father,” Joanna sighed to herself).
Joanna had a penchant for calling her beloved son “Michel” in French fashion. Michael winced at this like at a toothache but tolerated it since it was his mum, after all.
Joanna had raised him on her own, and perhaps for this reason, she considered him her property. This is probably why the sight of her Michel chatting merrily with the lodger in the kitchen and gulping down her pancakes shocked Joanna. And it wasn’t just the pancakes! This “rascal” was also devouring that “country milker” with his eyes. Joanna Smith turned grey at this revelation.
“My son’s got no taste!” The horrid thought flickered in her mind.
From this moment on, Joanna began to despise her lodger: her cleaning was never quite right, her speaking not quite fitting, and even the pancakes seemed less delicious. More than anything, Joanna feared the love-struck gaze with which her precious son, her flesh and blood, looked at this “pale mushroom,” this “rural girl from the barn.”
“He’s never looked at me, his only family, his dear mother, like that!” she thought indignantly, tears soaking her pillow at night.
“I’ve nurtured a snake on my bosom!” she sobbed into the phone, sharing her distress with a close friend, an equally lonely woman of years, Irma Vivienne Smith.
“I thought Michel wouldn’t even glance at this pale mushroom! That’s why I let her in! But there she is, batting her eyes and snares him with her pancakes!”
Irma listened, moaned sympathetically, and gave her sage advice:
“Oh, watch out, Joan. She might have bewitched your son!”
With those words, Irma poured gasoline on the growing fire of hatred and misunderstanding, nearly driving Joanna to a breakdown.
Not that Joanna believed in things like love spells or charms… She called all that “superstition and wildness.” But just the idea that another woman had captivated her son’s attention drove Joanna mad.
She spent her days racking her brain about how to keep her son away from that “farm girl.” But naturally, showing herself to be rude or kicking the girl out wasn’t her plan. Not immediately, at least. That would cost her respect in her son’s eyes, and he might just move out.
“Nope! I must be sneakier. I need to somehow show that girl in a bad light, so he turns away from her.”
Joanna Smith brooded for days about how to pry her son from the tenant.
All the while the girl went about her days unperturbed, baking her pancakes, cooking stews, acting as if she didn’t notice Joanna’s piercing stares. Once she even asked, “Joanna, are you feeling alright? You seem down and pale… and you haven’t been eating.”
“Everything’s fine!” Joanna muttered to herself and vanished into her room to ponder the next phase of eliminating the “nuisance.” Various thoughts crossed her mind… Even the idea of poisoning the brazen girl. But Joanna quickly crossed herself, “Forgive me, Lord! What a sin to even think of!”
While Joanna Smith schemed, Michael came home one evening with a ring and flowers and proposed to Elizabeth!
Joanna Smith totally lost control over herself and, as you’d say, “went off the rails.”
“Not even embarrassed in front of his mother, the scoundrel!” she sobbed indignantly, spending the whole night wailing into her pillow. “He doesn’t consider me at all! He only loves this girl!”
Joanna angrily wiped away her tears and looked out of the window… then turned back, and her eyes fell on the bedside table. There lay her emerald earrings. Old earrings, worth a fortune. They had been passed down from her mother and her grandmother before her… She remembered how Elizabeth always admired them with fascination.
“I’ll show you!” Joanna hissed maliciously, decisively grabbing the earrings, wrapping them in a handkerchief, and slipping them into her handbag. Truthfully, she barely understood what she was doing or how she would proceed.
By morning, Joanna awoke in high spirits, intent on getting rid of the farm girl once and for all.
She came to breakfast with a sugary smile… and while buttering her toast, addressed her son, “Michael, did you happen
