GRANDMOTHER BEECH
-by Lina Piskernik
Jamie always enjoyed waking up early with grandmother to abscond into the woods and be the first to find the mushrooms that would be cooked for lunch that day. Grandmother knew what mushrooms were safe to touch and Jamie was small enough, therefore close enough, to the forest ground to locate the mushrooms for grandmother to inspect.
By late morning, the first mushroom hunters would show up to Jamie and grandmother’s favourite spots while they were already heading back home with a basket full of chanterelles, porcini, and puffballs. Back at grandmother’s house, Jamie rested her head on the cool kitchen table that was covered in a colourful plastic tablecloth. She listened to her grandmother first chopping the onions and then the mushrooms, the thwack against the wooden board rhythmically putting her into a sleepy trance. Then abruptly she would hear a sizzle in a cast-iron pan and the lyrical notes of browning butter would tickle her senses awake. The mushrooms and onions crackled and jumped in the pan, occasionally leaping out onto the cooking range, and grandmother would giggle and say, “Ah, trying to escape again, you won’t make it into the forest just yet,” as she picked up the fugitive mushroom and threw it back in the pan.
“Why do you talk to them, Omi?” Jamie asked once, and she didn’t mean just the mushrooms. She saw and heard her grandmother talk to her English roses in the garden and the apple trees in the orchard.
“Well, the plants, they talk. Don’t you hear them?” She asked Jamie, and Jamie stayed silent because she talked to the cherry tree and the lavender bush plenty, but never heard anything back besides a rustling of leaves or the buzzing of bees.
“All in due time,” grandmother hummed to herself as she watched Jamie get chased down the garden path by a bee that was trying to pollinate her granddaughter.
In the last weeks of summer, Jamie stayed at grandmother’s house for two weeks. Since her parents worked incessantly and had no time for family vacations, she mostly stayed bored in her room in the summers, waiting for the shadows to become longer and the days to become shorter. The city got a sort of orange-ish hue from the sun, and then Jamie knew it was time to go to her grandmother’s. Her mother dropped her off at the early morning train and Jamie quickly found a window seat so that she could spend the next hour watching the countryside fly by.
“She was old enough,” people told Jamie as if grandmother’s death in old age could comfort her at all. There was so much that she still wanted to ask her, about the war she survived, the soldiers that lived in this house with her for years, and the language of the plants of course.
Grandmother’s house stayed empty for years. Jamie’s parents weren’t interested in moving out of the city and drove to the house occasionally to check whether the roof had leaked or the basement had rat’s nests. Jamie never joined. Returning to the house would be disappointing, she knew. It was simply an empty vessel, as if the house died with grandmother. She was the soul of the house and garden and now there was nothing to return to.
“We have to ask you for a favor, honey.” Jamie’s mother said over the phone.
She was just leaving her last lecture of the first year of university, where she presented a short story she’d written. The professor had promptly torn her work to shreds. Too many inconsistencies; there was no flow to the story. Jamie knew that her professor was only trying to help but it was hard to deal with critique in front of her classmates. The vulnerability of having her work discussed in front of her colleagues made her nauseous enough to take some valerian root supplements to calm her before class.
As she walked out of the classroom, with the phone to her ear, she felt dizzy. The valerian root was finally working.
“Uhh….hi, what’s up?” She quietly mumbled into her phone. There was no one in the hallways of the university building, but Jamie still felt the need to whisper.
“Jamie, dad and I just realized that we have a business trip at the same time as a house inspection for Iris’ house.” Jamie hated it that her mother called her own mother by her first name, Iris.
“Uh yeah, grandmother’s house.” She corrected.
“Yes, and, well, can you stop by the house to meet up with the inspector?” Her mother asked in a slightly too high-pitched tone. It was as if she was trying to be the child in this situation, begging.
Jamie was silent. It was 5 years since she last entered grandmother’s house. She’d wanted to return for years, but she felt an unease in her belly whenever she considered it. This time the unease gave way to relief. Jamie was so tired of the city, of seeing concrete everywhere she walked. Maybe just a quick trip into the countryside would do her good.
“Yeah, sure, mom. I’ll go,” Jamie sighed, her whisper somehow still echoing through the marble hallways.
Her mother quickly gave Jamie the details under which rock in front of grandmother’s gate the house keys could be found and hung up.
By noon the next day, Jamie found herself in front of grandmother’s house. It looked slightly smaller than she remembered and the sunny yellow of the outside walls was faded to a pastel version of the color. Jamie found the keys and opened the rusty garden gate. The green paint of the gate was beginning to peel.
Jamie woke up again. It was raining outside and the thunder must have roused her. She couldn’t get a good night’s sleep since she arrived in the house. Jamie was tossing and turning during the nights and sleeping through the days. She wasn’t able to write even one sentence, much less the new short story that she’d hoped to compose at the house. Every time she looked at grandmother’s old desk, she could almost see her sitting there, pouring over a book with her magnifying glass or spouting out random words as she was doing her daily crossword puzzle.
Jamie knew she wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep. She rolled out of bed and placed her naked feet on the cool ground. It was unseasonably cold in the house, especially at night. It must be the thick stone walls, thought Jamie. Now’s as good a time as any to take a bath, she thought and tiptoed to the bathroom to get the smallest area of her feet cold. Grandmother always chided her if she wasn’t wearing house slippers.
Jamie turned on the bathroom lights. Too bright, she murmured to herself, but she needed it to shuffle through the cabinets to find some kind of tonic to put into the bathwater. Grandmother used to make lavender soap, perhaps there still was a dusty bar lying around.
She turned on the hot water tap and sat on the toilet, resting her head on the edge of the tub and watching the water rush into the old cat-claw tub. Jamie didn’t find any soap, but some lavender oil of which she poured a few drops into the steaming water. There would be no bubbles tonight, something she always insisted on having in this bathtub when she was splashing around like a toddler under grandmother’s watch.
© Andrea Z. Scharf
Jamie stood up, pulled her ex-boyfriend’s oversized shirt over her head, and pulled her boxers down, letting them drop to the tile floor. She pulled her hair back into a bun and dipped her toe into the hot water. The temperature was scorching, exactly how she preferred it. As she sank her lower body into the hot lavender water she let out a sigh of relief. She lifted her knees and slid her upper body further into the water. Jamie inhaled the lavender deeply, remembering the lavender bush where it came from. Grandmother used to have a fat white tomcat living in her backyard that would spend all sunny summer days simply sitting in the middle of it. Gordo, as Jamie named him, was always supremely relaxed; his eyes half open and unbothered by the bees buzzing around his marshmallowed head. Jamie understood what Gordo felt like during his lavender lounging days. Finally, her nervous system was winding down. She made another consciously deep inhalation and her eyes shut. Her knees relaxed to the point that they dropped to the side, leaning against the tub wall. Her chin was touching the warm water. Through her half-opened eyes, she could observe the glittering steam rise from the bathtub water and form an effervescent trail to the bathroom door. She felt her chest tighten and there was a deep pull coming from within her heart as if the organ was tied tightly with a string and someone was pulling on it.
One more deep breath, Jamie thought, and she closed her eyes.
Jamie awoke in the cold water with a start. Her face had been submerged almost up to her nose. She remembered how her mother reprimanded her for taking baths for too long. Her mother was afraid that she would drown.
Jamie tried to blink her eyes. She must have gotten some of the lavender oil from the bathwater in them. They were burning. Jamie quickly got out of the tub, dripping a water trail to the bathroom sink, and began washing out her eyes. Once the burning subsided, she looked down at the sink.
Dirt. There was mud in the sink. She looked up at her reflection in the mirror and could see clumps of mud in her hair. The water in the bathtub was brown and murky. Jamie smelled the mixture of dirt and lavender on her. Her heart began to beat spasmodically. She sat down on the cold bathroom tile floor. What happened last night? Why couldn’t she remember how she became covered in mud? Jamie gulped down air and began shivering, her body moving perilously towards a panic attack. She quickly jumped back into the tub, picking up the showerhead to wash off the grime. As the hot water hit her face, rolling down her breasts and taking the mud with it, Jamie began to calm down. Her mind and body seemed suddenly too tired to deal with considering the different scenarios of how the mud made its way onto her.
In a stupor, Jamie returned naked and clean to her bed, already illuminated by the morning light. She felt deep tiredness as if she’d run all night. Even her bones felt weary.
Her bed welcomed her, enveloping her in fresh, white sheets and letting her towel-turbaned head rest on a soft pillow. Her eyes shut quickly and she fell into a dreamless sleep that lasted until evening.
What awoke her were the church bells chiming, signaling that it was half-past an hour. It was almost dark, “the in-between hours” is what grandmother would call this time when the fireflies would come out to dance between the roses and trees. Grandmother used to let Jamie try to chase the fireflies and somehow, they would always fly in one direction; towards the dark woods at the back of the apple orchard, where there was a small creek. Jamie never was allowed to play back there. Grandmother said she was afraid that Jamie would drown, which sounded ridiculous to her since the water was only ankle deep.
Mrrrrreow.
Was that a cat? Did Jamie just hear a cat meowing?
She was completely awake now, adrenaline rushing through her veins. Naked, she walked to the front door of the house, which she must have accidentally left open overnight. The last slivers of sunlight were passing through the doorway. Dust was swirling in the yellow-orange light. Windchimes were gently swaying in the wind, releasing differently tuned sounds. And in that last ray of sun, Jamie could see Gordo lying rolled up in a small shimmering white ball on the doormat. He raised his head, looked into Jamie’s eyes and slowly stared her up and down. Then he got up and confidently trotted out of the door, stirring up the effervescent dust in the evening light.
“W-wait,” Jamie exclaimed as she ran after him. This cat can’t be Gordo, she thought. He must be dead by now. He’d be 20-something years old. Cats don’t live that long!
At the doorstep, Jamie felt self-conscious, hesitating on whether she should take the step outside completely naked, but the garden and orchard were walled off from both sides where neighbors lived. The only part that wasn’t walled off was the way to the creek and woods. And that’s where Gordo was heading.
Jamie could see the little white creature bouncing up and down through the tall un-mowed grass. He was jumping at the fireflies which had fully descended upon the garden. They seemed to be dancing in step with each other. Some were glowing blue and others were white. Gordo was chasing them toward the creek, toward the forbidden dark woods.
The last sunlight passed, and the garden took on a bluish hue as Jamie followed Gordo and the fireflies. The wet lawn grazed her knees and with every step, new fireflies would float up from the grass surrounding Jamie. She could feel that familiar tug at her heart again. The tug that she felt last night in the bathtub before she fell asleep or passed out. The string was tugging her towards Gordo, tightening the closer she came to the woods.