The last supper I ever set before my kin has never left my mind. I still recall the great oak table in the drawingroom of the old Whitmore manor, where I rose to its head and addressed the assembled relatives.
Have you had your fill, dear guests? Are your bellies satisfied? Did I serve you well? I asked, trying to keep a smile steady.
Yes, sister, Basil answered with a satisfied sigh, as always you are at the top of your game!
Ethel, ever the supportive one, added, I agree wholly! Mother and I learned to cook together, yet I never manage such flavours. No wonder I always call on you for my celebrations!
Mabel, puffing from the gym, interjected, Mum, Ive just left the fitness hall again, but I could not stand still!
Andrew, with a grin, said, Ill send my wife over so you can teach her a thing or two.
Victor, wiping his mouth, laughed, Thats why I married you, Eleanor! He let out a belch and added, Excuse me.
Served well enough, then! I beamed. Then, pausing, the smile faded from my face, and I declared, Now, my dear and beloved, out of my house you all shall go! The room fell into a heavy silence, the kind that settles after a thunderclap.
I seized the massive silver salad bowl, lifted it with all my strength, and hurled it to the floor.
Enough, you little tykes! The dancings over, I said, a sour grin curving my lips. I will not let anyone ride on my back any longerespecially not you!
The silence above the table deepened, and the guests stared, stunned. No one expected such a display from Eleanoralways gentle, everready, everobedient.
Are you all stunned? Victor asked, receiving an instant slap from his wife.
Nurse, call an ambulance! Shes having a fit! Ethel shouted, halfjoking.
I lifted the crystal decanter, its remnants of cider catching the candlelight. Whoever reaches for the phone first will taste my wrath! I said sweetly. Why stand frozen? Run, you insatiable gremlins!
Basil, stern, said, Eleanor, calm yourself and think.
I replied with a smile, I will no longer be your servant! I will not cater, I will not run about because someone else cannot do a thing themselves! Enough!
Victor, rubbing his reddening cheek, asked, Whats the matter? Everything was fine, wasnt it?
I sank onto a chair, leaning back. Your audacity has crossed every linelong ago, in fact. Your final protest showed me just how brazen youve become. I will not see you again.
Andrew tried to defend himself. We did nothing wrong.
Exactly, my son! Victor retorted.
***
They say a life lived rightly cannot be disputed. Yet what is right? Everyone claims a different truth. Eleanor Whitmore spent fortyfive years convinced she had lived as she ought. In the end, she could not blame herself.
Born the third child, second daughter, she delighted her parents, adored her brother, and never quite reached her sister. She left school, found work, never chased starlight, yet never complained of fates tail. She married, bore two children, stood as a faithful, loving wife, never raised her voice without cause, and was a good mother. She raised her offspring, taught them, and sent them forth.
Even as an adult, she kept ties with her brother and sister, offering help, celebrating, sharing sorrow, and joy. They saw her as kind, helpful, wise, and understanding. Thus she believed her life had been properuntil, at fortyfive, abandonment struck her in the bleakest hour.
The doctor entered after lunch. All tests are in, no contraindications. Shall we schedule the operation?
Of course, doctor, I said, my voice low, the decision is already made.
He noted my melancholy, I understand, but you never know.
Schedule it, I waved my hand. The sooner we start, the sooner we finish.
He scribbled in the chart. Youll dine tonight, no food tomorrow, operation the day after.
Turning to the next bedside, he said, Catherine, your results arent all clear. Well sort them out.
Very well, Dr. Oleg, Catherine replied.
When he left, she asked, Why so glum, Eleanor? Afraid of the surgery?
Partly, I admitted, glancing at my phone. My husband
Catherine chuckled, My husband left me with songs, but I think the kids will come home to mum, and hell throw a feast later. Perhaps hes also run off?
I pursed my lips. From his last voice note, he knows Im going under the knife. He should at least offer a word of support, but hes out drinking with his mates!
Catherine waved it off, All men are like thatcats at home, mice in the yard.
I sighed, It still hurts. Removing the womb is serious. Even a crumb of encouragement would have meant something. I told him I was scared, that I needed his support. He only sent two brief messages after I left and now stays silent.
Catherine, a decade younger, lacked the experience to soothe me, so our conversation dwindled on its own.
I refused dinner, taking nothing with me, knowing I must fast before the operation. I lay quietly, staring at the ceiling, recalling the time VasVasilybroke his leg in two places at work. I visited him daily, bringing homecooked meals, clean clothes, staying till midnight before returning home. I took leave to help him, like a squirrel running round its wheel, never refusing my husband a moments aidfetching water, spooning broth, washing, cutting, combing.
Why does he treat me so? I asked Catherine when she returned from her own supper.
Not just yours! she laughed. All men are the sameconsumers! At school they must teach them to sit on a ladys lap, no?
Id hustled my husband for three years, finding him a better job through friends. Yet he never liked any of it. He wouldnt work until I threatened divorce and alimony.
Mine works, I said.
Catherine waved her hands, All the sameexploitors! If you dont tie them down, theyll sit on your neck, squeal their legs, and run off!
I began to see my husband as butter on toastsoft, melting, leaving me on my heels.
Am I overreacting? I asked. Is it the operation making me nervous?
Its clear he offers no kind words, Catherine replied. My husband, though, brings fruit juices, calls, sends hearts on the phone every day.
I turned away, pulling the blanket over my head.
***
Going a day without food, even when necessary, is no small matter. I tried to distract myself with chatter, but the mornings tests kept pulling Catherine in and out.
Phone in hand, I thought, Family will not refuse a talk to pass the time. My son Andrew didnt answer, only sent a text promising a call. My daughter Daisy missed twice, then her number became unreachable.
Good children, I muttered, bewildered.
Cant they pick up? Catherine asked, catching her breath between tests.
Imagine! I replied. Is it so hard to answer mother?
Adults? she asked.
They live apart now.
Forget them, mother! Youll only see them when they need something! Like fledglings that have left the nest, only a gust of wind will bring them back!
My eldest, now sixteen, no longer thinks of me. If they live separately, parents become unnecessaryperhaps just show up for funerals.
No, we have a wonderful relationship! I insisted.
Then why wont they answer?
Catherine hurried on, and I reflected, Is it truly that hard to spare a minute for a mother? Their recent visits have all been about moneyno loans, just endless pleas.
The sadness was overwhelming. Catherine summed it up well: The fledglings have flown. They live their own lives, remembering parents only when they need something.
I called my husband again. No answer. I left a message that sat unread.
Ah, VasVas! I muttered. If only hed have been more present.
At dusk he finally replied, Where are our savings? The wages are gone, we have nothing to live on! Hed been paid three days earlier.
Nevertheless! I thought, A feast on a mountain, wine by the river! Yet I said nothing back. Had he hinted an ounce of worry, I might have spoken. Instead, I let him fend for himself.
Basil answered a call, saying he was busy and hung up.
Ah, hes busy, I said, waiting for a reply that never came. I remembered the six months I spent moving between two houses after Basils wife left him, leaving the children behind. I tended to themmother, cook, cleaner, everythinguntil Basil found a new lady. Conflicts arose because Basil demanded love for his children while I wanted love for mine, and his were a nuisance.
I soothed them for a year and a half, never hearing a word of thanks. Now he was busy again. When I called later, only a short beep and silence.
Thanks for the black list, brother! I thought. He, too, knew I faced a tough operation. When he asked to take the children for a month, I refused, citing the surgery.
Ethel gave me merely five minutes, barely inquiring about my health: When will you be well enough? My husbands sidefamily of ten is arriving; well lodge them in a hotel, but theyll need feeding at home, in great quantities! Youre the only hope!
I dont know, Ethel, I replied. The operation is serious. Two or three weeks in hospital, then a recovery period. Doctors say up to fifty days.
No, no, sister! Things dont work that way! You must be ready in three weeks, like a lance! Its my husbands kin, more important than anything! she demanded.
Im frightened, I admitted.
Come on, stop dawdling! Chatter and off you go! I must be off!
It was infuriatingchatter and off! I thought. Does the operation even matter? Complications could arise! I glanced at my phone. I need a cook, yet Im nearly fifty and never learned to cook properly!
Ethel constantly summoned my younger sister to cook for her guestscolleagues, husbands friends, any celebration. I never left the stove for days, yet never received an invitation to her table.
What? Thats a foreign crowd! she snapped. My preparations for strangers were ignored.
The operation passed without incident, but I lingered two more weeks in the ward. I refused to call anyone, waiting for someone to remember me. No one didno husband, no children, no brother, no sister.
At last, I made a decision.
Eleanor, what nonsense are you spouting? Basil shouted. Did they remove a piece of your brain along with the womb?
What a memory! I replied, delighted. I thought no one would recall me any longer.
I rose again to the head of the table, voice ringing through the silent hall.
Listen, my dear relatives! I have lain in the hospital for two weeks, and not a single soul has inquired after me, not a single living heart has shown concern! I announced.
No brother, no children, no sister who ever used me as a free kitchen hand. No loving husband who managed to waste both my wages and the savings wed set aside for a cottage. No dear offspring I gave life to. Not a single call!
A whisper of outrage hung over the room.
All my life I was ready to do anything you required. And now, when I needed the simplest supporta touch, a wordnone of you were there! If I survived this alone, I can survive any thing. I will no longer run errands for you.
I began to address each one in turn.
Vas, divorce without a word! Youre out of my flat!
Children, live your lives! When you need help, turn to your father! Mother is gone!
And you, Basil and Ethel, I refuse to see you any longer! Hire nannies and cooks elsewhere! Enough!
How can you be sane? relatives cried.
All rose, lining up, thrusting themselves toward the door. Out you go! I commanded. I shall live for myself at last, not for you!
And with a final, exhausted chuckle, I sat at the empty table, gazing at the broken shards of the salad bowl.
Perhaps I overreacted, I whispered, picking up a new silver bowl. But I shall begin a fresh life with a fresh bowl.
