Give birth as soon as you can, croaked Grandma Mary, swinging her legs off the bed.
It was the year of the 87th reign for Mary, and shed long since forgotten what youth felt like, yet her grandson and greatgrandson kept urging her on, occasionally tapping her with a cane:
Dont linger in your blue stockings, or youll end up recalling your own old age when its already too late.
Now Mary grew morose, stayed in bed, and answered the household with a snarl, Why have I raised you lot, you wasps, to slumber until noon? At half past six in the morning the kitchen rang with the clatter of pots. The family grew uneasy.
Grandmother, asked fiveyearold greatgranddaughter Ethel, why dont you scold us any more?
Its my time, child, my time, Mary sighed, speaking of the hour of departure as if with a mix of sorrow for the life slipping away and a vague hope for something beyond the stew you all have forgotten how to make.
Ethel fled to the waiting relatives in the kitchen.
The groundhog at Marys has died! she announced, relaying the fresh intelligence from her reconnaissance.
What groundhog? raised the head of the household, also Marys eldest son, Edward James, his bushy eyebrows arched. He looked like the BlackSea sailor from the old tales, the sort of man the wind would stroll past on the street.
Probably an old one, Ethel shrugged.
She had no business knowing the creature, for Mary had never shown it to her. The elders exchanged glances.
The next day a composed, measured doctor visited their home.
Your grandmother is unwell, he diagnosed.
Obviously, Edward snapped, slapping his own thighs, thats why we called you!
The doctor stared thoughtfully at him, then at his wife.
Just age, he replied flatly. I see no serious abnormalities. What are the symptoms?
She no longer tells me when to cook lunch or supper! his wife, herself now an old woman, said in a fallen voice. All her life she poked me with her nose, saying my hands were not right, and now she wont even step into the kitchen.
The family council with the doctor agreed this was a worrying sign. Exhausted by worry, they lay down as if they might sink into the earth.
That night Edward awoke to the familiar shuffle of slippers, but this time it was not the urgent summons to rise for breakfast and work.
Mum? he whispered into the corridor.
Hmm, came a casual reply from the darkness.
Whats the matter?
Yes, I think Ill sneak off to meet Tom Brown while youre still asleep, Mary began to sound herself, to the loo, where else?
Edward flicked the kitchen light, set the kettle boiling, and sat at the table, clasping his head.
Hungry? Mary stood in the hallway, watching him.
Yes, Im waiting for you. What was that, Mother?
Mary shuffled to the table.
Its been five days Ive been cooped up in my room, she started, when a pigeon smashed into the windowbang! I thought it was a omen of death. I lay down, waiting. Day after day, and now Ive woken in the dead of night thinking, Should that omen have fled to the woods to the sprites, so I might have spent my life in the open instead of under covers? Bring a pot of tea, stronger and hotter. For three days you and I have not spoken properly; well make up for it.
Edward finally drifted to sleep at half past five in the morning, while Mary remained in the kitchen, determined to prepare breakfast herself, for otherwise those palehanded folk would never manage to feed the children decently.
