A short story by Madhuri
The old lady sat in the big chair in the corner with Elvis in her lap. She was nearly blind, but her voice was still strong and clear, and she seemed to have a sixth sense about what was going on in the house. Elvis disliked loud voices, but he didn’t seem to mind hers; when the old lady would sound off on something happening in the next room, he’d just stretch his arms way out in front of him so that his turned-out paws flexed, yawn, and settle back down with a renewed verve to his purr.
“BETHANY! YOU’VE LEFT THE PIE IN THE OVEN TOO LONG! IT’LL BE DRY! DAN WON’T LIKE IT!” the Ancient would holler, and the whole house would stop for a moment and draw breath. Or, “PRISCILLA! STOP THAT! LEAVE THOSE SPOTS ALONE! YOU’LL RUIN YOUR FACE!” to the teenager in the upstairs bathroom. Or, “JOCKO! STOP RIDING THE RABBIT AROUND IN THE WHEELBARROW! YOU’LL SCARE IT HALF TO DEATH!” Bethany, fixing supper in the kitchen, would grit her teeth and think to herself, It’s been a long day. I’m tired. Work was exhausting – and now I’ve got her to deal with, until time for bed! Dan, what did you do, leaving us, and then saddling us with her? And she’d get the shepherds pie out of the oven, and toss a salad, longing – just longing – for a bath, a book, bed… privacy.
The carer left at 5:00, just when Bethany got home; and there was not only the supper to get, but all the lost items to be located – glasses, or hearing aids, or teeth – and then the conversations in the sitting room. The old lady did not approve of television, so they hadn’t one; they listened to the radio, or read, or played board games. And, at least once a week, the elder would suddenly shout: “I WANT TO DANCE!” And out would come the antiquated CD collection, and she’d choose the one she was in the mood for. She was not too steady on her pins anymore, the old one; but the kids gladly held her by a hand, or an elbow, while she joyfully hopped about, out of time, to Diana Ross or The Staple Singers, or waved her skinny old arms over her head to Pink Floyd. Sometimes Bethany even joined in, for the music was catchy.
One Saturday Dan’s sister popped by. She was embarked on a mid-life career change, and was studying to be a pastry chef. This endeared her to the children, of course, and she’d bring by her failed experiments – wonky cakes, petit fours with off-centre rosettes – which still tasted fabulous. This time she’d brought a chocolate cake with Grand Marnier in the filling. The whole house buzzed like the spin dryer was on!
Bethany and the sister – her name was, old-fashioned-like, Maude – got on well, and Bethany couldn’t resist having a moan about how stressful she was finding it, to have God herself looking over her shoulder all the time. From a chair in the sitting room!
Maude became pensive. Her face settled, she looked out the window for a moment, and then back again, at Beth. “Did Dan ever tell you?” she asked. “How our mum saved his life?”
“Saved his life? What do you mean?” asked Bethany, puzzled. “I don’t think so.”
“Oh, Dan”, sighed Maude. “Men! They never tell you the most important things. It was like this… Dan was seven, and he’d dressed himself up like Batman. Got a pair of Mum’s black tights, cut off the top, made cat-ears out of card and stuck them in, cut out eye-holes, pulled the whole thing down over his face. Took Mum’s black velvet cape and put it round his shoulders. Batman pyjamas under that, and he was good to go. He climbed up to the attic and out onto the roof… two floors up, it was. We could see that he was going to try to fly. I was out in the garden, I was just little, and a few kids from the block were there – and Dan put his finger up to his lips, hush – and we wondered if he could really do it? I thought he might… And then he jumped, arms out wide under the cape.
“And you wouldn’t believe it – how Mum knew. She’d been in the sitting room, front of the house, paying some bills – but all of a sudden, between the time Dan jumped and the time he landed, she’d dashed out the kitchen door, grabbed the garden lounger with the pad on it, shoved it right under where he was going to land, and, quick as anything, piled all the other garden-furniture cushions on it too. He came down hard, the aluminium lounger broke, the legs splayed out, but the cushions and that long pad absorbed the shock, and he’d got nothing broken. Just a chip out of his front tooth, where he knocked it on the edge of the lounger. That was it.
“And Mum stood there, breathing hard, and the rest of us just looked at her in shock. How had she done it? …That’s Mum.” And she went off to find her mother, to give her a hug, and listen to her complaints.
Bethany stood still. Dan – her Dan. Her sweet man – gone these two years. Tears welled up. She loved him – oh how she loved him. She loved him still. And she – that one, the Ancient – she had saved him, from himself – as a mother ought. And so he had grown up, and found his Beth, and married her. And joy had been theirs… such joy.
She wiped tears from her face. Elvis ambled in, a great genial fluff of black-and-white, and jumped up on one of the kitchen chairs. He butted his head on Beth’s hip. She stroked his thick fur. Tears dripped onto it. He shook himself. Then he looked up a bit, eyeing the table. His neck stretched up; his nose twitched.
“NOT ON THE KITCHEN TABLE!” hollered the old lady.
Featured image thanks to Susan Berry
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