The story I want to share with you happened in mid-September, after a long rainy summer. Having returned after a vacation at my aunt’s at Blisshill that I had spent mostly reading in her cosy living room, I realized how much I had missed my gloomy hometown – and the old woman in a gray hat… I wasn’t sure if she had survived the summer – according to my calculations, she was supposed to be extremely old. But early on Saturday morning, on my way to the market, I saw the familiar shabby figure rolling the screeching bike in the direction of the bridge that led to the forest road. I was glad. At once I wanted to learn more about her. Perhaps, because, like her, I was lonely, and had no friends who would be glad that I was back. I was curious to know how she cast spells and worked her dark magic.
I wasn’t popular at school, and, perhaps, by that very reason, as I planned my visit to the old woman, I decided to ask her upfront to teach me how to cast different spells. I was sick of being strange and uninteresting to everyone. What if magic could help me seem completely normal to others – and even be liked? Or, perhaps, the old woman knew something I was completely unaware of… something that could make my life easier?
My parents worked hard at the small farm our family had owned for centuries, and had no time to follow what I was doing between school and house chores. They knew that Oscar – that’s me – could spend hours walking around Direville when not at the farm helping them. I knew everything about my hometown and its neighbourhood. The only place I wasn’t allowed to go to was the seashore on the other side of the forest. But I went there too, especially on weekends. I liked to leave the house very early and watch the sunrise there.
My life was all about learning. I remembered every bush, every house, every tombstone in the churchyard, the concrete ties on the railroad, all the cracks and chips on the intricate ornament of the school facade, the austere contours of the factory building, the jewellers’ house that looked like a castle to me… I even walked inside the hospital, where I watched the discharge of patients. I went to many different places…
But my favourite pastime was being byВ the pond, where IВ felt completely at peace. There IВ relaxed, looking at the tranquil water surface, ducks swimming by, and the reed that IВ would sometimes break, and, rubbing the dark brown cocoon between the palms ofВ my hands, throw the white floss into theВ air.
***
InВ the evening, with aВ simple travel backpack ofВ thick material on my shoulders containing the chocolate bar my aunt had given me, an old flashlight and aВ folding pocket knife inside, IВ headed towards the forest.
The cold ground was covered with autumn leaves, and their musty smell filled me with hope ofВ good change ahead. IВ wanted toВ stop and kick the leaves about, or find aВ stick and look for funny worms and snails inВ the muddy puddles. But my plan possessed me, not letting anything side-trackВ me.
On those days it started getting dark earlier than inВ summer, so IВ had toВ hurry. InВ about an hour, an entire horizon ofВ yellow leaves spread out beforeВ me.
I wondered to myself if I would have the guts to start talking to the old woman at all – or she’d perhaps cast some spell over me before I had the time to say anything.
IВ felt aВ little uncanny. But Direville is aВ somewhat unusual place, and IВ am just one ofВ many inВ it who were afraid or ill at their ease every now and then.
The hedge around the old woman’s house was rickety, so I easily climbed onto the witch’s territory, and, having hid myself behind an apple tree, started watching the kitchen garden with baited breath. Time passed, but nobody came. The harvest was abundant – heavy cabbage heads, large orange pumpkins and other season vegetables filled every bed. Lit by the evening September sun, it all looked like a picture. I squatted, and started thinking. Do pumpkins – or cabbages – have a soul? If so, perhaps, it is contained in the stalk? I bent down to take a closer look at a cabbage head, as if I had never seen one before. At that instant, something soft touched my foot – so gently that it wasn’t even frightening. A cat was rubbing its side at my ankle – most likely, the very one that lived with the old woman in a gray hat. People talked a lot of it, too. I found the cat very beautiful. I was charmed by the sandy shade of its fur. The neck and the stomach were white, and the face, the paws and the tail had a golden tint. Above the pink nose sat a dark ginger spot that looked like a large freckle, and the ends of the ears were dark too, like those of a bobcat.
The feline looked at me with round blue eyes, and IВ suddenly realized that it was the most adorable cat IВ had ever seen. IВ patted it, and, as if inВ response, it touched my forearm with its gorgeous fluffy tail. This made me very happy.
Feeling braver now, I picked the cat up, and, together, we looked into the window. The green curtains were slightly drawn apart, but the light wasn’t on, and it was too dark to see anything inside. The front door was crack-open, beckoning me; I had more confidence with the cat in my arms, so we walked in. However, while the cat was entering its own house, I was an unannounced guest.
The first thing IВ became aware ofВ inВ the darkness ofВ the house, was the smell. Not an eerie stench like that ofВ aВ decomposing corpse, but aВ sharp, sobering aroma ofВ different herbs and medications. The instant IВ switched on my flashlight, IВ heard aВ noise coming from the attic.
I had been uncomfortable before the sound came, but now, I quickly put out the flashlight, and, before I could distinguish any other objects besides an old chest in the hall, I ran – as fast as I only could. I thought I heard steps approaching behind me as I reached the door, but I rushed out without turning around, and, catching full speed onto a low-hanging branch of an apple tree, I stumbled out onto the road and sank at once in a heap of autumn leaves. They stuck to my face, not letting me see clearly, but I kept running on like a madman. Even though nobody was chasing, or even shouting, after me. I was a mere coward.
Then, finally, IВ got home.
Exhausted, I fell into my bed, feeling as if something heavy was pressing me into the mattress. The neighbour dogs howled, not letting me sleep; the large and pale full moon that seemed to be looking directly into my window made me restless. I tossed and turned, until – I didn’t notice when – sleep received me into its embrace…
***
…This time the cat didn’t come out to encourage me, and there was nothing left for me to do but knock on the closed door. I was beginning to regret having come.
It seemed like an eternity before the door finally opened with aВ quiet moan. The old woman looked at me from under the rims ofВ her gray hat with mistrust. Then, saying nothing, she threw the door open and limped back into the room. IВ followedВ her.
The bright spots of light from an old-fashioned hanging lamp and a kerosene lantern dissolved the dusk that filled the place. The dry floor planks screeched like my own soul. We didn’t stop in the living room, walking straight into the kitchen. Different jars, bottles and even laboratory tubes stood on the wooden shelves, filled with substances of unusually bright colours.
She asked me no questions, and her eyes didn’t express surprise anymore, as if she had already understood what I had come for. Perhaps, her cat had told her of me the night before – or else, she was reading my mind. Thinking of that, I suddenly realized that I was ill.
The stooping old woman chuckled, took a transparent glass and put two spoons of a powder of an emerald shade into it. The colour seemed unnatural to me. It was cold inside the house, and I shrugged. Muttering something, she added a dash of a milled dried herb. I was about to ask her what it was, but on second thoughts, what did I care, as long as it could help me? Then she boiled water in an aluminum pot on an old two-burner stove and poured it into the mix she had made in the glass. A smoke rose from it, and a pleasant aroma filled the kitchen…
I couldn’t help staring at all the things in her house. Everything, even the most unremarkable objects, seemed unusual. The transparent jars filled with bright powders of different colours all had intricate shapes.
Then I noticed a pumpkin on the table, right in front of me. Just like the cat of whose presence I had also just become aware – it sat there, purring and narrowing its eyes – the pumpkin was covered in a sticky green substance of an emerald-green tint. Next to the pumpkin stood old faded photographs in frames. One of them depicted a young girl with beautiful long hair holding that very cat in her arms. First, I thought it could be the lady of the house in her youth – but at once dismissed the possibility. I wasn’t sure at all that cats could live so long not aging even a bit.
The old woman turned away, set the jars with herbs and powders back into their places, and then, pushed the glass with the cooling brew towardsВ me.
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