New Canterbury Tales

‘Ma?’ My mother turns around from cooking soup to face me.
‘Just a minute Taran,’ she says. She is still looking a bit tired from last night’s festivities, New Year's Eve. I stayed up to watch the fireworks, but I feel okay, full of energy. I love the fireworks, although the name is a bit strange, there is no fire involved in it at all. Grandma told me that when she was young it was real fire, with explosives. Very dangerous, very much polluting and also very loud, to scare away bad ghosts, she said. But so beautiful with all its colours, she showed me pictures. Nevertheless, I think I like our new fireworks better, light and musical, to remind us of the good things to come and our good wishes for the New Year. Of course, the lights are emitted by low energy lasers that are connected to our solar panels.

Mum has turned her back on me and is frantically cutting some of the leftovers and shoving them in the slow-cooking soup pot. She is almost finished.  
‘Ma,’ I try again. ‘Ma, I am worried about grandma, maybe she is hungry, can I bring her some soup? Please?’

‘That’s thoughtful of you Taran.’ She turns around to face me again, the big ceramic kitchen knife still in her hand.
‘Fetch me one of the smaller pots please, so I can fill it for her.’
I reach for the shelf with the double-walled pottery, made after an old procedure, but very fashionable today. It will keep the soup warm. Ma fills it with the soup, just a few big spoonfuls, but that will be enough I guess.

‘Ma, can you add some of the broth you cooked from Fiona’s bones, I think grandma needs that strength?’ I see Ma’s eyes getting teary. I know it is not because of Fiona, our white rabbit who had a good life before she ended up in the broth, at the natural end of her life. It is because of grandma. ‘Please?’ Ma takes two small cubes of the broth from the freezer and adds them to the small pot of soup. She wipes the tears from her eyes before she hands me over the soup carefully.
‘Want to talk about it ma?’ I would like to hug her, but am afraid to spill the soup.
‘I’ll be fine Taran, now go, bring the soup to grandma.’

Before I take the soup, I quickly feel my pockets to ensure my other treasure for grandma is still there, the last letter from her sister, who stayed behind in England when the rest of the family moved to Scotland after Brexit. I am on my way, walking through the community gardens, very quiet on this morning. The ground is frozen white but will warm up and get its colours as soon as the sun is higher. Written letters are a rare thing these days, we have so much better and faster ways of communicating. But letters are harder to intercept and the only way to communicate uncensored from the Isolated Countries, like England.

After a short walk, I come to grandma’s place, I am sure the soup will still be warm. I kneel beside her and start talking.

‘Look Grandma, I brought you some soup, there is a bit of Fiona in it. You loved Fiona, so I am sure she will fill you with strength!’ As grandma does not answer I babble on. I tell her about last night’s festivities, from my view of course. I know grandma’s view must be different. I tell her about the other kids in the community and the latest gossips. And while she is still silent I take grandaunt Sara’s letter from my pocket. ‘See grandma, another letter from Sara! Here let me read it to you.’

September 2049

Dear sister,

So sorry to hear you are not feeling well, I guess old age gets to you, even in the United Communities of Scotland. I am scraping some savings together, although life is still hard over here and most of my pension is spent on healthcare. But sending my ‘messenger pigeons’ over Hadrians New Wall does give me some extra income. I am working very hard to get a temporary travel permit and hope to visit you somewhere in November. There will be a lot of forms to fill in and I’ll have to be extra careful. So this will be my last letter before we hopefully will see each other face to face soon. That will be so special. You asked me if I regretted staying behind, hearing about the way you live in Scotland. We do not get much information from outside you know. But I have no regrets, despite the hard life, John and I had many years together. Being together was what really mattered to us. But with John gone, life has gone rather bleak I must admit.

Lots of Love

Sara

While Grandma is still silent, I imagine a smile on her face. I kneel down beside her and place the letter next to her and place a rock on it, so it doesn’t blow away. I take the lid of the pot of soup, it is indeed still warm. I kneel beside her, seeing her as she used to be. A wrinkled face with sharp eyes. Always ready to make a quick remark. But a soft smile which would broaden at a good joke. I can hear her laughter, and also her stories about the old days and her views on the future. About the lessons, we could learn, her good advice.

I don’t know if the dead eat soup, and if they need the strength of soup indeed. I hope it helps her move on. I like to think she looks down at me from wherever she is, with Fiona on her lap. I am sure the soup will not go wasted, I see a raven looking down on me, with its intelligent eyes. I am sure there will be more ravens when I leave. Grandma taught me to respect them, they are messengers she said. So I look at the raven and whisper ‘If you see grandma, tell her we love her, we miss her but think about her every day!’ The raven looks as if he understands. ‘Oh, and if you see Fiona, we miss her too!’

Suddenly I feel a soft hand on my shoulder. Grandma! But it is Ma.
‘I miss her too,’ she says. ‘It was hard, wasn’t it, our first New Year’s Eve without her. But she was ready, we have to let her go. I am sure the soup helps Taran.’ We sit in silence for a while beside her small tree. It will grow bigger and stronger, as will the memory of her.

‘I came to fetch you,’ Ma says. ‘Pa is going to rebottle the whiskey and wants to teach you and aunt Sara.’

‘But Ma, that is illegal!’

‘Well, they are not really rules you know, more like guidelines. And he is still Scottish of course, and so are you.’

I take Ma’s hand, the sun is out now, shining on Grandma’s tree.

‘See you soon.’ I whisper to Grandma and letting go of Ma’s hand I run home, feeling the wind of the brand new year in my red hair.