Give birth as soon as you can, Granny Margaret croaked, swinging her legs off the bed. She was in her eightyseventh year, and shed long since forgotten what it felt like, but her grandson and greatgrandson kept urging her, nudging her with a cane now and then. If you linger any longer, youll end up a bluestocked old hag, and by then itll be too late to remember us.
Now Granny Margaret had grown somber, stopped getting up, and started muttering at everyone at home, What, you little devils, have I raised you for, so you can nap until noon? The kitchen pots clanged together at half past six in the morning, and the whole family grew uneasy.
My dear, asked fiveyearold Evelyn, her greatgranddaughter, why dont you swear at us any more?
Its my time, love, my time, sighed Granny Margaret, speaking of the end as if with a hint of sorrow for the life slipping away, or perhaps hoping for something beyond the stew you lot cant even manage to cook properly these days. Evelyn bolted to the kitchen where the rest of the clan lingered.
The groundhogs dead! she announced, relaying the latest intelligence.
What groundhog? asked the family patriarch, also the eldest son of Margaret, James Whitaker, raising his bushy eyebrows. He looked like a character out of an old folk tale, the sort of man the wind would whistle past on a cold night.
Probably an old one, shrugged Evelyn. She hadnt ever seen a groundhog, let alone one belonging to her granny. The elders exchanged glances.
The next day a calm, collected doctor paid a visit.
It seems the old ladys not feeling well, he diagnosed.
Of course, James snapped his fingers, thats why we called you! The doctor stared thoughtfully at him, then at his wife.
Its agerelated, he declared without hesitation. I dont see any serious abnormalities. What are the symptoms?
Shes stopped telling me when its time for lunch or dinner! All her life she poked her nose into everything, saying my hands werent right for work, and now she wont even step into the kitchen, said Jamess wife, her voice dropping, herself already showing signs of old age.
At the familywide council with the doctor they agreed it was a worrying sign. Exhausted from worry they all lay down, as if they might simply fall asleep forever.
That night James awoke to the familiar squeak of slippers on the floor. This time, though, there was no urgent demand to get up and start breakfast.
Mum? he whispered as he stepped into the hallway.
A husky voice drifted from the darkness, Whats up?
Whats the matter?
Listen, while youre all still asleep Im slipping out for a date with Mike Harper, Granny Margaret mumbled, sounding like she was just pulling herself together. I need a loo, where else?
James flicked on the kitchen light, set the kettle boiling, and slumped into a chair, clutching his head.
Hungry? the granny asked from the corridor, eyeing him.
Yes, Im waiting for you. What was that, Mum?
Granny Margaret shuffled to the table. Ive been holed up in my room for five days now, when a pigeon flew straight into the windowbang! I thought that was a death omen. I lay there, waiting, day after day, and then I woke up in the middle of the night thinking, Wouldnt it be nicer if that omen went off to the woods instead of me wasting my life buried in sheets? Make me a proper cup of tea, strong and hot. We havent spoken much these past three days, sonlets catch up.
James finally drifted off to sleep at half past five in the morning, while Granny Margaret stayed in the kitchen, determined to make breakfast herself, because any other hands would never manage to feed the kids properly.
