Wednesday, April 21, 2004
Porridge
The boy woke knowing the plague was on him. He livened up the fire in the hearth, nearly swooning, nearly falling into the fire. The fire was cool against his fevering skin. His belly rejected thoughts of breakfast, but he set the water to boil for the morning porridge just the same. He gazed at his image in the surface of the water. When the plague came for his mother, her face was long and pale and spotted all over with rosy rings. The image in the water was imperfect, but he saw the hint of his mother's sorrowfully drawn and dying visage in it.
The plague had taken his baby sister first, but he had seen his mother's babies die before. She had been sad about the others, but when the sorrow came to her face this time, he knew it would never leave. He knew that the face of sorrow would be his mother's face until she died. His father was next. His father did not seem to know that it was time for him to die. He lingered and lingered until his face melted and bubbled like a thick sauce his mother once made from fat and milk and cheese. The boy and his mother had been too weak to break the cold ground and give Father a proper grave, so they dragged him out into the field and burned him with the bedclothes. The boy could not bear to burn his mother's corpse. When her time came, he dragged her to the spot where Father had been burned, feebly rolling her over to lie face down in his ashes, then running back to the house through menacing dusk, tears streaming from his eyes, ashes clinging to his fingers.
The water boiled on the hearth. The boy poured in the last of the meal and stirred. He was not hungry. He was thirsty though and drank cup after cup of water while the porridge boiled until the pail was nearly empty. He was too weak to go out and draw more water from the well. He lay before the hearth, staring into the fire. He saw things in the fire. He saw his father's ghastly melting face. He saw the too-still face of his baby sister. When he saw his mother's face, it was not her dying face he saw. It was his lovely mother. It was his gentle, smiling mother. It was his soothing, sleepy mother, singing her own sleepiness into him. As he closed his eyes, he hardly even noticed that the image of his mother's face split open and a terrible grinning angel emerged to swiftly approach and claim him.
The plague had taken his baby sister first, but he had seen his mother's babies die before. She had been sad about the others, but when the sorrow came to her face this time, he knew it would never leave. He knew that the face of sorrow would be his mother's face until she died. His father was next. His father did not seem to know that it was time for him to die. He lingered and lingered until his face melted and bubbled like a thick sauce his mother once made from fat and milk and cheese. The boy and his mother had been too weak to break the cold ground and give Father a proper grave, so they dragged him out into the field and burned him with the bedclothes. The boy could not bear to burn his mother's corpse. When her time came, he dragged her to the spot where Father had been burned, feebly rolling her over to lie face down in his ashes, then running back to the house through menacing dusk, tears streaming from his eyes, ashes clinging to his fingers.
The water boiled on the hearth. The boy poured in the last of the meal and stirred. He was not hungry. He was thirsty though and drank cup after cup of water while the porridge boiled until the pail was nearly empty. He was too weak to go out and draw more water from the well. He lay before the hearth, staring into the fire. He saw things in the fire. He saw his father's ghastly melting face. He saw the too-still face of his baby sister. When he saw his mother's face, it was not her dying face he saw. It was his lovely mother. It was his gentle, smiling mother. It was his soothing, sleepy mother, singing her own sleepiness into him. As he closed his eyes, he hardly even noticed that the image of his mother's face split open and a terrible grinning angel emerged to swiftly approach and claim him.
