Story of Anna part I

- Never have I met a woman like Anna - started grandmother, grinding helplessly, as she was toothless. She liked, though, to work out her jaw a little bit before starting a monologue. She knew she'd feel tired by this primary activity of all humans. It ain't easy being old, she reflected. Had she known this simple truth years ago, maybe she could have taken certain decisions differently.

- Are you talking about Anna, my mother?

- Yes, my dear, your mother. Your mother, since she was a little little dove, was incredibly strong and fierce, rapid in her actions, judgements and words. Little did she care about others, and yet, at the same time, she was the most caring and loving creature I bore. When loving, she handed you all her heart, so loyally and vulnerably, I'd fear for a life tragedy to come. When getting angry, though, she was ruthless and she hurt you - she, indeed, wanted you to feel pain. Being very perceptive, she instinctively felt your weaknesses and aimed faultlessly in the worst spot. Many had to heal for a long time after the words she had yelled in her theatrical furies. Did she think about the consequences? I doubt so.

Once, when for a couple of weeks she was meeting that boy, that sweet, red hair medic's son, I strictly forbid her from seeing him. He wasn't good enough for her. He came from a very troubled family and I simply feared of certain pathological patterns he would have instilled in her if they had spent more time together. Enough saying both his parents were heavy alcoholics without a place to settle. His father didn't work as a medic for years. He suffered from a serious mental breakdown after he couldn't have helped his beloved wife during the boy's birth. Once she had left this world, he found another partner to his pitiful life and both decided to turn the boy's life a hell on earth. Nothing good would have come from his and my daughter's relation, trust me, my dear.

- How did my mother react when you told her your decision?

- She threw an old pan in my direction. The pan's arm broke when hitting the wall. It was my favourite... and she knew it well. 'Mum's pan', children would call it. There were three pans on the shelf. She knew which one to choose.
She said she hated me with all her heart and felt sorry to have a mother like me, she swore she'd run away forever, with him, of course. Until today, I truly believe she'd have done it for real, she was capable of such move, no doubt at all. She saw me crying three nights and did her chores without talking to anyone at home, with this maleficent smile... she was delighted by my torment, mine and her father's. Every time one tried to start a discussion, she looked deeply into one's eyes for a couple of seconds, without even moving a single muscle on her face, and she turned back ferociously. It felt like a slap in a face, although she didn't even touch us. So great pride in her, there was. For three days didn't she talk to me, nor to her siblings, as if she knew she was going to abandon us forever. The only person she'd talk to and take care of those days was your grand-grandfather and her grandfather, Czesław, whom she loved most. He was a true anima buona, the only one able to calm her wild spirit. Annoyingly, he always took her side so I didn't know much of her plans. He didn't even bother to inform me, his daughter! Every time I begged him to tell me what the two were murmuring about, he shook his old, grey head and smacked out loud. I keep a little bit of resentment in the deepest part of my heart till today.

- Why didn't she run away, as she promised, grandmother?

- God listened to my prayers, that's what happened, my dear. Three days from our fight, the medic, in one of his alcoholic furies, beat the boy's last breath out. He hanged himself a couple of days later after his second spouse ratted him out at the police station. I'm not sure what hurt him more - the death of his only son or mere treachery of that old, grey-haired, rash-covered woman. It seemed like the latter, given he hanged only two days after her move, not after the boy's death. Anna, when got to know what happened, got closed in the attic for a couple of days by her father and brothers. It was the only place we knew she couldn't have escaped, no matter how hard she'd try. As you know, our house was very high and there was no window she could have used to escape or jump from.

- Why were you forced to enslave my mother? Did she want to suicide?

- Oh, we never knew with her for sure. She screamed she'd kill herself so many times, I lost count when she was your sister's age. I'm glad none of you took her temper. It wasn't an easy love, my dear.
Turning back, however, we had to close Anna to ensure she wouldn't harm the medic. In a great attack of fury, she swore to kill that beasty creature with her bare hands. Although merely 16-years old girl, she was of great strength and truth is everyone could have killed the medic. He was malnourished and haggard, always drunk, falling down every couple of steps. Why didn't the son save himself? We never knew. Sometimes I think he wanted it to end. After all, Anna didn't get permission to see him again, and what other ally did he have in his miserable existence? His creation was God's joke, and so was his death.

- What happened next?

- Luckily, after a couple of months, your mother's heart wound healed and she started acting like a normal young woman. Never did she apologise for what she had told me that day, never have I forgotten that rage in her eyes, so different from all other children of mine. I wanted to like her as much as I had liked her before, but I didn't manage. I gave her mother's unconditional love and devotion, for God's sake, but I never really liked her again. Was it fear, was it the uncertainty of a moment of another drama at home that could happen at any time? Was I a weak mother? I guess I'll get to know when meeting God in heaven.
Turning back, as I said, your mother eventually turned back to normal, just in time before starting a new school in an adjacent village. She was very talented and hard-working pupil, always prepared and focused, no surprise she passed her class with the highest grades and got a promotion to a better school with a special class for talented kids who'd be trained to become academics in the future. Her greatest dream was to become a medic and save lives. She didn't fear death, as much as she didn't fear life. She would find interest where others found disgust, like half-dead animals, ripped bellies with the stuff out, the sight of blood and body weaknesses. It drove her curiosity and all she wanted was to transform her talent onto something useful. I was proud of her but, at the same time, I wanted her to leave for a university and never come back. Not in the way she was, at least. I hoped she'd go to live in a bigger city, learn the culture, master savoir-vivre, learn self-control. I hoped she'd become a respected matron, a good housekeeper and loving mother of her children, a proud wife of her husband, a loyal friend of her siblings. But she decided to prank me again.

- Are you talking about school in Żarna?

- Yes my dear, the same school your mother worked in until her death. The one you are very familiar with. After all, she never became a medic. Such a waste...
Three months after starting a new school, she came to me as pale as death, with her heart beating like a drum. At first, I feared something terrible happened. I remember stirring a soup. When I saw her all excited, the dirty spoon fell down and accidentally got dirty my favourite skirt. That day all aprons were drying outside. It was stupid of me to use my favourite garment but all others were dirty already. How is that I memorised a spoon and a brown, linen skirt I was wearing?
However, she looked at me and at your grandfather who had just came back from the field, and declared with all seriousness in her eyes and voice: 'Mum, Dad, I fell in love. His name is Darek and one day we will get married'.

- Darek is my father's name!

- Oh, you can be sure she did keep her word. We didn't expect anything different. There was no room for negotiations. A couple of days later she brought your dad to our house. He was tall and white, very slim, I'd say, contrasting your mother's corpulent posture. They looked so different but I would sense great chemistry. Him being melancholic, serious, with a lion's wrinkle, with short and neat brown hair. Her - laud and tempered, with tiny wrinkles around her eyes and mouth, blonde and one head shorter than him. They entered my house holding hands and didn't stop until everyone sat down to eat a supper. Her dad, and your grandfather, didn't accept Darek at first, as he seemed quite weak material for a husband, pretty poor, and what's most important - 15 years older. As you might have heard already, Darek, your father, was your mother's math teacher.

Grandmother wiped her face with a cotton handkerchief with a flowery pattern. She closed her eyes for a couple of seconds.

- You can finish tomorrow if you feel sleepy, grandma. - whispered softly the granddaughter. She felt genuinely curious about her mother's story, given she didn't spend too much time with her. But she knew nothing good would come from rushing her old, poor grandmother. She delicately covered grandma with a wool plaid. - You will finish tomorrow. I will wait.