Hunger

Hana sat in the kitchen, a cool breeze laced with fragrances from the rūtos and daffodils below rolling in from the open window above the washbin. She stood on the chair watching over her grandmother’s shoulder as she rolled the potatoes reduced to paste for the cepelinai.

“Why are you making so many?” Hana asked, always intuitive.

“You never know what guests might appear at your table. What if Uncle Petras and your cousins come?”

“You didn’t say anything about Uncle Petras! He’s my favorite,” Hana said, leaning on the chair in the way her mother always scolded her for.

Her grandmother smiled knowingly. “Careful now, if you tip that chair over your mother will not be happy with me…”

***

Hana sat in the kitchen, cool breeze laced with fragrances from the petunias and geraniums outside rolling in from the open window above the sink. She rolled the cepelinai while her granddaughter stood on the chair watching. Hana’s daughter would be upset that she allowed such a thing.

“Why are you smiling, grandma?” Her granddaughter asked. She was always so curious.

“Oh nothing, just remembering a time with my grandmother.”

“Where’s she?”

Such a simple question. Such a difficult answer. Hana turned her attention to chopping cabbage—turned her attention back to this happy memory. There were so few of those after…

“Isn’t there only eight of us grandma?”

Eight, only eight. She remembered a time not so long ago when there were many more of them. A time when Hana was young and played hide and seek through their little fields with her cousin Jonas while Uncle Petras searched for them. He never did, until their laughing gave them away. She believed there was a strength in that.

And then a time where there were hundreds, no thousands, of them together in a long dark hall where the absence of light had nothing to do with there being no windows cut into the walls. Uncle Petras searched for Jonas in that hall too, all while Hana prayed she’d hear a laugh that never came.

“There are, sweet one,” Hana paused, gripping the edge of the counter. “My mother used to say… well, you never know when someone might be hungry.”

Hana tugged at her sleeve, making sure her granddaughter couldn’t see what hid beneath. There’d be a time for that someday, but not today.

“Dinners ready!”

———————————————————-

A/N: WC 396.

Written for the Beginnings/endings challenge below:

If you've enjoyed this, please leave a like and an insight below. If you really enjoyed this, tips to fuel my coffee addiction are always appreciated. All formatting is designed for desktops. Want to read more? Below are the best of the very best of my works: