The Glassblowers

There weren't always dragons in the Valley.

My little sister laughed at him now, the way she always did when our grandfather started a story this way. Right before she challenged him.

“What!? There are no dragons in the valley NOW, Grandpa!”

She played along the same way when we walked by a field of horses and he called our attention to them with “look, children! Look at those big brown bunny rabbits!”

“Those aren’t bunny rabbits, grandpa; those are HORSES!”

Well no wonder they look big enough to ride!

My sister Charlolla always laughed, tumbling along where our grandfather’s words led her. Tumbling right past the glimmers of insinuation while I kept seeding the hillside. Scorched by fire last year, itching for a fresh salve of green, the hillside where we lived above the valley would benefit from burnberry bushes. Strong slender roots holding hands with each other deep underground. Holding the soil in place to fortify the hill against washouts should heavy rains come, and feed us wet sticky fruits with powder blue skins and meat the color of feverish tongues in two summers.

I wouldn’t be too sure about that, Char … but I suppose you’re right. Who ever heard of such a thing? DRAGONS! In the valley!

At this point my sister returned her attention to the basket of seeds before her, considering our grandfather’s words a concession and the teasing over.

Charlolla looked victorious. I felt suspicious, but said nothing. I didn’t know what to ask or how. Not without upsetting the tone of their fun with too much of my seriousness. Not without winding up teased by the both of them: humiliated by a child and a mischievous old man. A foolish boyler who thought maybe our grandfather was testing us and not just teasing. I felt like he was dropping hints, the way he sparked up our imaginations when we set to work with our eyes down in the dirt.

Now remember, children; stand up and stretch whenever you feel the dragon-breath get too hot on your backs.

Charlolla laughed without even looking up at this one. It was just a fun reminder from the sun.

Don’t you laugh at me, Char!

Charlolla giggled.

I had to learn the hard way so that you children won’t suffer my fate; just look at my hunched back from all those hours and seasons and years of picking and planting without remembering to stand up and stretch. When I was your age, I planted a whole field of torchfallow in two days. Without taking a break. By myself!

It didn’t sound possible. But then who would have been around to help our grandfather when he was Charlolla’s age? We knew of nobody older than him. Except for Grandmoyler.

*****

She was there in the kitchen when we got home. Sprawled in the big chair with her head back on the spinecradle, arms stretched out full span. An oiled rag covered her eyes but her mouth opened as soon as we walked in the door.

“What have you brought me for supper, husband?”

Our grandfather swiveled his head to look at Charlolla like they both forgot to finish their errands while out playing.

Well I thought Char was in charge of your supper tonight!

Grandmoyler didn’t move.

At least get your grandmother a sugar-hopper, Char.

Charlolla giggled and climbed on the bench up onto the table, took the lid off the jar of amber glass, and picked up the tongs. She loved grabbing the grasshoppers out of the paper bag with the tongs, dipping them in the honey, and dropping them in Grandmoyler’s mouth.

Charlolla walked the bench like a balance beam over to the big chair without letting any honey drip onto the floor.

“Ready Grandma?”

Grandmoyler opened her mouth to show she was ready and Charlolla eased her grip on the tongs, letting the honeyed insect fall into her mouth.

Grandmoyler’s hum while she chewed was low and satisfied. She finally swallowed, smiled, and drew her long arms off the rests. She sat up, swiped the rag off her face, threw it at our grandfather and caught Charlolla up into a cuddle so quick my head spun.

“Now really, husband … where is our supper?”

This time when Charlolla and our grandfather laughed, I laughed too.