We hated her the moment she crossed the threshold of our cottage. Her sweater was plain, but her hands were unlike Mothersshorter, stubby, clenched tightly. Her legs were sleeker, her feet oddly elongated.
Charlie, my brother, was seven; I was nine, and we hurled bolts of static at her. Longdistance Ethel is a kilometre, not a mile! we taunted. Father noticed our scorn and snapped, Behave like proper people! What are you, uncouth brats?
Is she staying with us long? Charlie asked, his tone dripping with entitlement. He could say such things; he was small, he was a boy.
Forever, Father replied.
A tension grew; if he lost his temper, we would be in trouble. Better not to provoke him.
An hour later Ethel gathered her things to leave. As she slipped on her boots, Charlie attempted a sly trip. She nearly tumbled into the hallway.
Fathers voice wavered, What happened?
I stumbled on another shoe, Ethel said without looking at Charlie.
Everythings a mess. Ill clean it up! he promised eagerly.
And then we understood: he loved her. No matter how hard we tried, we could not erase her from our lives.
One afternoon, with Father away, Ethel, in a flat, eerie tone, announced, Your mother has died. It happens, sadly. She now sits on a cloud, watching everything. I think she disapproves of your behaviour. She knows you act out of spite, guarding her memory.
We shivered.
Charlie, Blythe, youre good kids! Is that how you honour a mothers memory? A good person is known by deeds, not by being prickly as hedgehogs! she added. Her words gradually dulled our urge to be cruel.
I once helped her unpack groceries. Ethel praised me, stroked my back, and, though her fingers werent Mothers, the touch felt pleasant. Charlie grew jealous.
She placed freshly washed cups on the shelf and praised both of us. Later that evening she told Father, loudly and delightedly, how helpful we were. He smiled.
Her foreignness kept us uneasy for a long time. We wanted to let her into our hearts, but it never seemed to work. Not Mother, thats all! we muttered.
A year later we could no longer remember life without her. After one incident we fell for Ethel, forgetful of everything, just as Father had.
Years later, in the seventh year of school, Charlies quiet world was shattered by a bully, Victor Hammersmith. Victor was the same height as Charlie but far braver. He chose Charlie as a target simply because he could. The Hammersmith family was closeknit; Victor felt his fathers protection. Youre a man, ladhit them all. Dont wait for them to crush you, his father told him, making Victor see Charlie as an easy mark.
Victor began to assault Charlie openly, striking him in the shoulder whenever he passed. I managed to coax the details from Charlie after seeing bruises on his arm. He believed men should not dump their problems on sisters, even older ones. Unbeknownst to us, Ethel lingered behind the door, listening.
Charlie begged me not to tell Father, fearing it would only make things worse. He also pleaded that I not go after Victors face right thenthough I wanted to protect my brother at any cost. Involving Father would only tie him to Victors father, and prison was not far off.
Tomorrow was Friday.
Ethel, pretending to be off to the shop, guided us to school and whispered that she wanted to see Victor. I complied, muttering, Let him have it, you fool!
What followed was theatrical. During a language lesson, Ethel breezed into the classroom, hair perfectly coiffed, nails immaculate, voice sweet, and asked Victor Hammersmith to step out because she had business with him. The teacher, none the wiser, allowed it. Victor, assuming she was a new organiser, left calmly. Ethel seized his shirt, lifted him off the floor and hissed,
What do you want from my son?
Myson? Victor stammered.
My son, Charlie Rybakin!
Nothing.
I want nothing! If you lay a hand on my brother again, look at him or even glance the wrong way, Ill kill you, you wretched thing!
Please, maam, I wont Victor whimpered.
Off you go! a womanEthelshoved him out of the room. Talk about me again and Ill have your father locked away for corrupting a youngster. Tell the teacher Im your neighbour and youll apologise to Charlie after school. Ill see to it myself.
Victor fled, adjusting his uniform, muttering about the neighbour. He never looked at Charlie the same way again; he avoided him entirely and offered a brief, shaky apology that very day.
Dont tell Father, Ethel warned, but we couldnt hold back and spilled everything. He was astonished.
At some point she steered me onto a straight path. At sixteen, I fell into a reckless love where hormones blinded reason and forbidden desire beckoned.
Embarrassing to recount, but Ill say it: I got involved with an unemployed, perpetually drunk pianist, never noticing the obvious. He whispered that I was his muse while I melted in his arms like wax. It was my first encounter with a man.
My mother visited the pianist and asked two questions: Does he ever sober up, and how do we plan to survive? With a solid life plan, she promised to consider the future of our loveprovided the pianist took responsibility for my upkeep. One cramped, smokefilled flat wasnt enough for serious intentions.
He was five years younger than Ethel, and I was twentyfive years older than him. She cared little for decorum. I wont repeat the pianists answers here; Ive never felt as ashamed in front of my mother as when she said, I thought you were smarter.
Thus my love story ended oddly and ungracefully, but neither the pianist nor Father ended up in prison. Ethel intervened just in time.
Many years have passed. Charlie and I now have families built on love, respect, and a willingness to stand up for those we cherish when they err. All of this was taught to us by Ethel.
No woman has ever done for my brother and me what she did. Father is happy with her, wellkept and loved.
Once, a family tragedy struck Ethel; we knew nothing of it, and Father never mentioned us.
Ethel fell for our Father and left her husband. She had a son who died because of her husbands fault, a loss she could never forgive.
We like to think we have eased some of Ethels pain. Her enormous influence on our upbringing was never, and will never be, downplayed. The whole family gathers around her; we never know which slippers suit her feet best, but we cherish and protect her.
Because true mothers, even when a cruel foot steps in their way, never truly stumble.
