I was a widowed grandmother, living on my state pension, when I decided to take my only boy, Dan, to the shopping centre one bright morning. He surprised me with something I hadnt expected.
The coach hummed along the road, but Dan was glued to the window, his eyes round as two chocolate coins. Hed never been to a big city before; in fact, even I, Len, rarely left our little villagemarkethome. That was his whole world.
That morning something struck his heart:
Lets see how it is at what do you call it, Grandma?
At the shopping centre, dear, Dan replied, proud to know the word. The teacher says its a big town inside a building.
I tucked my smile behind my scarf. Id saved the few coins from my pension and the modest stall I ran at the gateeggs, greens, a bunch of parsley, a couple of jars of relish. No one would recognise what Id gathered, but Id set it aside for this day, to see Dan happy.
His mother worked abroad, supposed to be just two years away, but four years had already passed. His father had vanished long ago, the day he said he was off to find work in the city and never returned. Since then Dans world had been held by two cracked, loving hands.
Dont be ashamed of me, okay? I asked that evening.
How could I? Youre youre everything to me, Grandma, he said, serious as if he were already a grown man.
When we stepped off the coach, the shopping centre rose before ussleek, cold, glass walls glinting. I breathed in deeply, as if entering another world.
This is a building, not a joke, I whispered.
Come on, Grandma, Ill show you inside!
The doors opened on their own and I gasped.
Oh my, its like the gates of heaven I muttered, crossing myself so no one would laugh.
Inside, cool lights, music, hurried crowds. Youngsters with branded tote bags, women in high heels, kids dressed like theyd walked out of a catalogue. Dan and I felt as if wed stepped onto a film set.
He took my hand, clutching my fingers like treasure.
Look, Grandma, there are clothes. Toys. That band you see on TV at home.
So many, dear so many I whispered, overwhelmed.
We entered a childrens clothing shop. Garments hung perfectly, bright and sorted by sizenot like the cramped cupboard at home where three shirts and two pairs of trousers had fought each other for years.
You can try anything you like, a smiling sales assistant said.
I blushed.
No, no, were just looking
But Dan was already sliding his fingers over a blue hoodie with a tiny superhero on the chest.
Grandma I just want to see how it looks on me we dont have to buy it.
There, in front of the rack, all my worries gathered: the tiny pension, the bills, the oil, the sugar, the medicines. Yet above them rose a stronger thought: his childhood.
Put it on, dear, try it, I said firmer than I felt.
I helped him into the hoodie. It settled on his shoulders as if made for him. Dan looked in the mirror and, for a moment, was no longer the boy with scraped knees and threadbare clothes. He was a child from the adverts on the telly.
Grandma I look like the city kids, he whispered, trying not to grin too wide.
My eyes grew moist.
You were beautiful in those old clothes, but this one seems made for you.
When I saw the price, my heart tightened. I calculated in my head how many loaves of bread, how many kilos of flour, how many tram tickets that money could buy. Then I looked again at Dan, pulling the hoodie sleeves up shyly, convinced I would put it back.
Grandma, lets buy it. Its a lot, but lets get it.
Dan blinked, unsure.
Really, Grandma?
Really. And take good care of it, because its a promiseto grow up and one day walk you through your own shopping centre.
We wandered to the toy aisle, where Dan lingered at every model car, every Lego set, every flashing pistol. His eyes sparkled, yet he asked for nothing. At seven, he already knew that wishes were measured in money, and money didnt fall from the sky but from the cracked palms of his grandma.
Go on, have another look, dear, I said, feeling my knees ache. Grandma, theres a bench over there; my legs feel heavy.
We sat near the escalators. I carefully placed myself on a polished wooden bench, clutching the canvas bag that held the new hoodie. A modest slice of bakery bread Id bought earlier sat tucked beside it, a tiny piece of our village in the glass world.
Dont go far, Grandma, Dan said. Ill just go to that toy shop across the way.
Go, dear, I can see you from here.
Dan trotted off, a little lopsided, while I stayed on the bench, eyes following him. Around us, youngsters passed with large paper bags, shiny phones in hand, laughing, chatting, snapping selfies. No one looked at me. If they did, they might think I was some old country woman whod lost her way.
But I didnt feel lost. For the first time in ages, I felt in my place. In the middle of that carousel of lights, my heart was full.
Look, Lord, how big hes become and who would have thought Id bring him here? I thought, watching his small head among the shelves.
I looked at my palmsrough, scarred from years of work, washing, carrying wood. Those same hands had cut the first slice of bread, soothed his tears, wiped his nose when other kids laughed at his broken shoes.
Now, weary, they trembled a little, not from age but from emotion.
A young couple sat nearby for a moment, their glossy bags beside them. The girl glanced briefly at my bread and old coat, then at the shop windows. They didnt know that behind my tired smile lay a story heavier than all their bags combined.
Grandma!
Dans voice cut through the malls noise. He ran to me, cheeks flushed with excitement.
I went up those stairs all by myself! And I saw a shop full of balls! And a huge screen with cartoons!
He talked fast, jumbling words, as if afraid hed run out of time to say everything. I watched him and thought I hadnt erred in spending the money on the hoodie and the trip.
Do you like it? I asked gently.
Its the best place in the world, Grandma. But you know I like home more.
Why, dear?
Because youre there. It smells like your soup. Here it smells like money.
I laughed, a short laugh, tears at the corners of my eyes.
Youre right
I pulled him onto the bench, tucked the hoodie around his neck, gave him a sip of juice and a bite of the warm bread. We sat shoulder to shoulder, an island of quiet in the bustling centre.
Around us, people rushed in all directionsshoppers, sales, bright adverts. No one knew that on that bench sat two souls whose only treasure was each other.
Grandma Dan said after a while, chewing his bread, Will you bring Mum home when she returns?
I will, of course. Well all be there you in your new hoodie, her with her lovely bag, and me still with this shawl. And youll show her, not me.
Ill show her everything. And Ill tell her you brought me here the first time. Let her know.
I felt my heart warm. Beyond the windows, beyond the sparkle, true wealth sat right beside me: a sevenyearold who never asked for anything, but who received everything I could givelove, time, my tired arms.
Im not a mall woman, I thought. Im a woman of the fields and of war, of weaving. But if this big world makes him smile, Ill keep coming, as long as my legs hold me.
I lifted my gaze to the high glass ceiling.
Lord, watch over us, please. Keep his mother healthy wherever she is, his father wherever he may be and give me strength in these two hands to keep him on the right path.
Dan hadnt heard the prayer, but as if feeling it, slipped his small palm into mine.
I love you, Grandma, he said simply.
I could only press my cheek to his crown and smile.
The cold lights of the shopping centre faded for a moment. It no longer mattered.
On that bench, between a canvas bag of bread and a brandnew hoodie, a grandmother and her grandson lived their tiny miracle: the joy no amount of money can buyknowing that, however big the world becomes, someone always awaits you with love, withAnd as the sun set over the glass façade, I whispered to Dan that love, like the light, would always find its way back home.
