Give birth as soon as you can, croaked Martha, swinging her legs off the bed. Martha was eightyseven, and shed long since forgotten what it felt like to be young, but her grandson and greatgrandson kept nudging her, occasionally tapping her with a cane: If you linger, youll end up a bluestocked old woman, remembering the past when its too late.
Now Martha was sulking, refusing to rise, hurling snide remarks at everyone at homeWhy did I raise you lot, you lot of snakes, just to have you sleeping in till noon?and clattering pots and pans at half past six in the kitchen. The family grew uneasy.
Grandma, asked fiveyearold Alison, why dont you swear at us any more?
Martha sighed, Im about to die, love, Im about to die, her voice trembling between sorrow for the life slipping away and a faint hope for something beyond the stew youve all forgotten how to make.
Alison darted to the kitchen where the rest of the family hid. Marthas groundhog died! she announced, reporting the latest reconnaissance.
What groundhog? asked the head of the household, her eldest son, Victor Jameson, raising his bushy eyebrows. He looked like a character out of an old folk tale, the sort of man the wind seems to wander about.
Probably just an old thing, Alison shrugged. Shed never seen the creature, after all.
The adults exchanged glances. The next day a calm, wellmannered doctor came over.
It seems Granny isnt feeling well, he said.
Obviously, Victor snapped, slapping his thighs. What would we call you if you werent?
The doctor glanced at him, then at his wife. Agerelated, he replied matteroffactly. I dont see any serious abnormalities. What are the symptoms?
She stopped telling me when to make lunch and dinner! Victors wife, Helen, said in a dropped voice, already looking like a granny herself. Shes been poking her nose at everything my whole life, saying my hands are clumsy, and now she wont even step into the kitchen.
At the family council with the doctor they agreed this was a worrying sign. Exhausted by worry, they fell asleep as if theyd collapsed.
In the night Victor awoke to the familiar shuffling of slippers. This time it wasnt a frantic summons to get up and work.
Mum? he whispered, stepping into the hallway.
A casual voice floated from the darkness. Whats up?
Why?
Yes, Im thinking, while youre all asleep, Ill slip off to meet Mike Jacobson for a date, the grandmother murmured, sounding as if she were finally gathering herself. Im off to the loo, what else?
Victor flicked on the kitchen light, set the kettle boiling, and sat down, clutching his head. Hungry? the granny asked from the doorway, eyeing him.
Yes, Im waiting for you. What was that, Mum?
Martha shuffled to the table. Ive been cooped up in my room for five days, she began, when a pigeon smashed into the windowbang! I thought that was a death omen. I lay down, waiting, day after day, and tonight I woke in the middle of the night thinking, What if that omen had gone off somewhere else, and Id be burning my life away under the covers? Make me a strong cup of tea, hot and robust. For three days you and I havent spoken properly, son, well catch up.
Victor fell asleep at half past five in the morning, while Martha stayed in the kitchen, determined to see the breakfast through herself, knowing the other hands in the house wouldnt manage to feed the children properly.
