THE MUTE LADY
Michael placed the buckets of water on the bench in Agnes’ hallway and was about to leave when the old lady caught his sleeve, signaling him to follow her into the living room. He sat on the wide bench near the door and waited for further instructions.
Quietly, the hostess took a pot from the stove and gestured toward the clock as if to say it was lunch time. She poured sour cabbage soup into a large bowl and served it with a slice of bacon, an onion, and a crust of well-baked bread. Then she remembered and put out a small jug of homemade liquor. Her hunched back was wrapped in a woolen shawl, and despite the warmth of the house, she wore woolen slippers.
Michael said softly, “I won’t say no to some soup, but I won’t drink. I’ve sworn off it, even kissed the cross and told the reverend I wouldn’t touch the stuff again. Last time, I made such a scene at the club when I got jealous over Vicki while drunk. Lucky I didn’t get locked up. Had to pay for the broken chairs. Mum said your back was giving you trouble, so I came to bring you some water. I’ll enjoy the soup now and then bring in some firewood. Maybe you have more work that needs doing. As soon as my mum sees me settle down in front of the TV, she pulls a job for me out of nowhere.”
Michael laughed at his own wit so hard that he nearly choked. Granny Agnes started tapping his back, hard as if she were hammering a nail into the wall. Michael resumed eating the soup with bacon and onion, then asked, “Granny, when you go to bed, does your back straighten out, or do you have to lie like a bow?”
Agnes squinted at Michael with her blue, laughing eyes and waved her hand.
“I bet you were a pretty young lady, with such a thick mane of hair and eyebrows arching across your broad forehead, and eyes like little lights shining at night. My Vicki is beautiful too! Just think about it, how could you not love her? Let me list her qualities, and you count them on your fingers. I’m afraid you’ll run out of fingers though: she’s beautiful, graceful, modest, kind, hardworking, tidy, thrifty, sings well, dances beautifully, isn’t greedy, has never been married, doesn’t drink, doesn’t smoke, and doesn’t hang out. See how many good qualities she has.”
Michael saw the laughter in Agnes’s eyes. Her chest shook silently, but her voice was absent.
“Granny, what clear, bright eyes you have for your age!” the young man noted. “Granny, you know Vicki, right?” Agnes spread her arms wide and shrugged, as if to say, “Who knows what you young folks are like, either good or bad.”
“Of course, we’re not like you. You were afraid of your parents and listened to them. But us, if something doesn’t suit us, we speak up and rush blindly ahead. We’ve got opinions on everything. Dad always consults with me before doing anything. And Mum thinks of me as the head of the family since all my brothers have scattered to towns. I’m the youngest and haven’t married yet, so I live with them. I want to marry and have lots of children. Vicki’s as fit as a fiddle. Speaking as a vet, she can have as many kids as she’s meant to. Oh, I forgot to say she’s also very healthy. Counting all her virtues made you run out of fingers, didn’t it?”
Michael finished his meal, feeling drowsy from the warmth of the fire. Despite Agnes’s bad back, her house was spotlessly clean. The grand sight of her big feather bed with pillows stacked to the ceiling and a bedspread caught his eye.
Michael daydreamed aloud, “I wouldn’t mind a bed like that for my first wedding night! Though maybe not, you’d boil over on a feather bed and forget everything else.”
He continued aloud, “Once Vicki finishes her studies and returns to the village, we’ll have our wedding. She’s training to be a nurse. Just think how perfect that is: I treat animals, and she’ll treat people. Though my mum often calls Dad a beast too. But in truth, we’re no better than beasts. You heard about Steve, right? He stole a motorbike from Pete and dunked it in the lake. Isn’t he a beast? And Victor nearly set the house on fire smoking in the barn. He’s a beast too!”
But the beastliest one was Simon. He dated Nadia, then deceived her; she got pregnant, and he brought home another fiancée from the city. Nadia went out of her mind; we thought she’d do something drastic. But now she walks around with a smile, expecting a boy, believing God sent him for joy. I wonder how that beast can walk past knowing his son lives there? I’d never abandon Vicki! When I look at her, I just want to hold her tight! So tight! To fuse together as one. But she’s a modest girl, nothing before marriage. This wedding represents a line she won’t cross. I’m not dragging her across it by force. She’ll make a great nurse; she’ll fix your back up in no time. Her injections don’t hurt a bit, like a mosquito bite. And I worry, when the estate grants us a cottage, I’ll miss you, Granny, since we won’t live nearby. But I’ll always find time to help you and chat. What else have you got for me to try?”
With skilled hands, Agnes pulled a meat-studded dish of buckwheat from the oven. The aroma was so inviting that Michael’s nose twitched. Taking a spoon in hand, he banged on the table like a child. Agnes smiled at how much he enjoyed her cooking, her eyes sparkling with joy.
“Lie on the feather bed while I eat. Is it only for show? Don’t worry, Vicki and I will give it a good rumpling.”
Michael choked again, but Agnes didn’t pummel his back. She wanted to thank him for his kindness, conversation, and the time he spent with her. She gently caressed his back with her calloused hands and planted a kiss atop his head.
Michael rose from the table, saying, “How am I supposed to work with a full belly? What I need is to nap on that bed.” He laughed and went outside. He brought in several armfuls of firewood, swept the hallway, checked on the pigsty, and bowed graciously to the landlady before heading home.
“Where’d you wander off to? Vicki’s been calling everywhere, and you can’t get enough of chatting with Agnes?”
“It’s hard to leave her! She keeps asking for stories and this or that,” he chuckled. “Mum, was she mute from birth?”
“No, son. During the war, she used to sing like Dame Vera Lynn. She traveled from house to house singing patriotic songs. When the Germans came, she sang ‘The Sacred War’ as partisans were hanged, and they cut out her tongue. The partisans saved her just before they could execute her. We thought she was born mute when she settled here, but the mayor told us her story not long ago. Her village languished, and ours is thriving. The army helped her get a house. We humans are often worse than beasts. We retreat into our lives and ignore others. But even though she’s mute, she understands everything.”
“Mum, she speaks with her eyes! When I mention Vicki, she lights up. But when I talked about Simon, lightning shot from her eyes! You know, Mum, her hands are very gentle. Who is she to me, really? No one. Yet I want to talk to her and share things.”
“And you know why, Mum? Because she converses with her soul. She doesn’t gesticulate like typical mutes; she’s like a person deep in thought. Tomorrow, I promised to hammer some things in her shed; she was so insistent. She’ll be waiting. So don’t invent any chores for me, I’ll be busy.”
