miłość i magia

My family doesn’t let things go.

Not traditions, not people.

“Is a curse Damie, is not your fault.” Nana said, grinding the herb into the mortar.

“Is the way of this family. New life does not come easy for us.”She didn’t look at me, her eyes scanned a dozen piles of powder, a myriad of colors spread across the kitchen table.

“I don’t really think of it as a curse Nana. Lots of couples have trouble getting pregnant their first time. It’ll happen when it’s supposed to.”

I sat at the kitchen counter. Perched on the stool like I was a boy again, watching her go through the same routine. She moved through the process with the muscle memory of someone who’d done it countless times. A pinch of ground chives, a dash of ground lovage, she’d done it all her life

“Couple doesn’t get pregnant Damie, woman gets pregnant. But the man, he must have strong seed. Our family has strong will, no strong seed.”

The crowded apartment smelled like sauerkraut and mothballs, even with the herbs laid out. It’s a smell I didn’t notice growing up. But coming home to visit after living on my own for ten years, I was baffled at how it eluded me being crowded into the small space with my family.

Mom and dad were grocery shopping, and I hadn’t seen Theresa in months.  Great grandma sat in her rocker and stared at the tv, she didn’t understand much English, but it passed the time.

“Yes Nana.” I said. I could argue the virtue of the modern perspective but agreeing with her allowed me to move on. “How is Papa?”

It was a pedestrian question. Something obligatory you ask, even though oh know the answer. Great grandpa, my Papa, was the reason for my visit. He was dying. It was clear to me. Everyone else in my family seemed to be in denial. He and my great grandma had both bounced back many times from illness. Still, he was very old, and very sick, it seemed this would be his final round in the ring.  My grandma truly believed she could cure him, so I thought it best to be casual about it.

“He is not so good, but I make him healthy again.” She said, still measuring and grinding.

I got up, walked to great grandma and knelt at her chair.

“cześć babciu,” I said loudly, smiling at her.

“Damian.” She smiled back and laid her hand on my cheek. “jego dobro tu jesteście.”

“Speak English Babcia.” I said. I’d expended my Polish with my greeting.

“Is good you are here. We go dancing.”

I smiled “Sure Babcia. But first I want to see great grandpa.”

“He is out, drinking wit his gang. Ugh, dey drink so much!” She threw her hands in air, exasperated.

“Ok, Babcia,” I said. “I’ll wait.”

I got up and walked back to the kitchen.

“Where’s Theresa?” I asked, “At school, studying I hope.”

Theresa, my little sister, ten years my junior, lived in the apartment as well. She was not a family member I talked to often, I’d imagined her waiting and excited to see me. Bad call. Eighteen, self-absorbed, pretty, what was I thinking?

“I doan know Damie. Maybe out wit friends.” Nana said. “Eat good. I make  zaradzic, ok?” She whirled around and across the kitchen floor to the cupboards. She reached up into the far corner of the farthest shelf and grabbed a nondescript black book. Her “recipe” book. I decided it was time to visit the bedroom.

It was cold and dark. The smell of the room, the odor, was far different than the rest of the apartment. It smelled like death. The window was open and the chill October air spilled in. I could hear great grandpa’s shallow breathing, but only faint trace of his breathe showed itself in the shadows. I stared at the bed for a long moment, then reluctantly stepped forward. His breathing halted momentarily and my skin pricked with goosebumps. I stood motionless and waited for his breathing to begin again. I couldn’t see his face in the darkness, only his nearly lifeless body on the bed.

I considered saying nothing, but the thought of turning and leaving the room without saying goodbye felt shameful. I opened my mouth several times, no words came. I relaxed and said simply, “Until we meet again,” and kissed his cheek. He was cold. His breathing never resumed.

I left the bedroom, it was like a tomb in contrast to the clamor of the rest of the small apartment. Nana was finishing her recipe and as I prepared to announce that Papa had passed, mom and dad walked in. My mom’s arms were filled with grocery bags and I rushed to take them from her. Anxiety swelled in my stomach as I pondered how to say what I needed to say.

“Hi honey, no, just take one.” She said and kissed me. She sniffed the air and grimaced, rolling her eyes toward Nana. “Has the freak show started yet?” my dad said, piling it n the door behind her, not really asking as much commenting.

Nana scampered to the table and scooped the piles back into their jars.

“Ok, everyone come and sit, is time for ceremony.” She announced. “Come now, sit, sit. Damien, Corka you sit this side. Joey and Mama, you on dat side! Come, come.”

“Ceremony?” I mouthed at mom. She smiled crookedly and nodded toward the table, my dad groaned, “yah, ok ma.” Nana helped great grandma out of her rocker and over to a chair. We all sat while she turned the lamp and lit candles. The streetlights fighting through the dusty windows were brighter than the light in the room. I squinted to watch her.

“We wait for Papa!” Great grandma’s voice scolded through the darkness. “He be home soon. Drinking wit his gang now.”

“We start NOW mama.” Nana said and propped up the large book in front of her. How she could read anything in the darkness I didn’t understand. “Papa join us soon.”

She began to recite the incantations I reluctantly remember from childhood. Words that were no language I’ve ever heard. Certainly not Polish or English. Many, not words at all but more guttural sounds from the back of her throat. Those sounds always scared me. I never got used to this ritual at all really.

“Sarbdoot ewabuswabu dictool,” She recited slowly into the dark. She waved her fingers in the air like jazz hands and I heard my dad belch under his breath.

More words and sounds and then her voice pitched high like a child and she began to yell loudly, “YaYa YaYa YaYa goont! Yayayayayayayaya goont!” She repeated this for several minutes. A noise at the front door startled all of us. The door opened slowly. The light from the hallway spilled into the darkness, violating my pupils. A silhouette in the doorway stood motionless. When my eyes finally adjusted, and I could see Theresa, earbuds stuffed into her ears and picking at her phone. The five of us sat silently and stared at her. She looked up from the screen and her mouthed formed an O. Her eyes widened, and she took two steps forward. She finished her yawn and kicked the door shut.

“Ugh!” She said in disgust, “isn’t anyone allowed to die in this family?” She walked into her bedroom and slammed the door. Nana began the noises again. Several minutes passed and I began to get restless. I was ready to break the circle, when a prominent creak of floorboards toward the bedroom made me turn my head in that direction. Slow, shambling footsteps echoed off the stucco walls of the short hallway, then, a moan. My heart began to pound in my ears. “Here we go.” My father mumbled.

The silhouette in the doorway of the short hall was hunched and quivering, but recognizable. Papa took another step forward after a short pause. As he staggered forward he straightened himself and stopped his shaking. His pallid and tired face emerged in the candlelight. He looked at all of us seated at the table. We waited. Great grandma looked up at him.

“Papa is back from drinking! We start dinner now.”