18 May 2012

Explaining to his Wife


Explaining to his Wife

He pushed open the door into the kitchen, the mud from his hand marking where he had touched. A few drops of rain were in the air but he hesitated at the threshold.
Inside, his children sat at the table. One had a pencil and was scribbling on some paper. Next to the range his mother sat in her senility. His wife was the most animated; moving from pot to sink, labouring over the dinner.
They all knew that it was hard times elsewhere. They had heard that in the next county families shorn of dignity had suffered themselves to go up to the big house and been turned away. Prices had increased at the store. On the road, shabby men were moving on.
But there in the kitchen the dinner was nearly ready. The smell filled the air and all present felt that comfortable expectation of a meal in preparation.
Everybody felt that except for the husband at the door. He waited until he could catch his wife's eye. She was busy and it was no easy task to get her attention, but he had something to say to her that could not be said in front of the children. At last she noticed. He pointed outside with his head.
She picked up a towel, wiped the surface, threw down the rag, tidied her apron and bustled her way outside.
A moment's silence as the two of them stood together in the rain.
“I've looked at the crop.”
Neither of them showed any hint of emotion or reaction.
Then, plainly: “It is spoilt.”
“There's nothing to sell,” he said, “and nothing to eat.”
“You can't sell it if it's black, but we can still eat it, we've eaten worse.”
“We can't eat it.”
“Why not?”
“It isn't there.”
“You'll have to plant something else then.”
He was hurt. “It's August already and anyway we don't have any seed.”
“We'll buy some then.”
“With what?”
“We'll sell the cow.”
“We damn well won't. We're eating that beast, and the bitch too most likely.”
“Then what?”
“I don't know.”
Silence.
“There's blackberries. And limpets.”
The man walked inside and washed his hands. He touched his mother on the shoulder and sat down next to his children. Then his wife served the dinner.

1 comment:

  1. Yep, the only ones to truly accomplish anything are those that never were.

    ReplyDelete