A lilting melody drifts into the room as she begins to stir.
Golden light pools beside the French windows.
The muslin curtains hover above the countertop, rippling in the gentle breeze.
Her spirit wavers. She tosses the silky sheets aside and glances around for her slippers, straightening her bloomers.
She stumbles away from the bed, towards the door, and out into the garden.
A figure’s hunched back greets her. In their hand is a large watering can, swaying back and forth across rows and rows of cabbages and lettuce. A wide-brimmed straw hat with butter-coloured frangipanis tucked in its gaps rests upon their silvery hair. Our legacy is carried on through the tune that she whistles.
“Grandma!”
She turned and shuffled towards me, appearing to smile. Her eyes, dense and dark like the smoke that billowed from our chimney, met mine.
“Where’s your coat, sweetheart?” she whispered, removing her knitted vest and slipping it over my shoulders. “Look at you, poor dear, you’re shivering. Why are you not wearing proper shoes?”
“I couldn’t find you, Grandma.”
“I’ve just been out here, sweetheart. Just out here.”
She held my hand, brushing her thumb across the top as she continued watering the garden. I shook off the small grains of dirt that had nestled into the fur of my slippers.
“Shall we go for a walk today?”
She hadn’t asked that question for a long while. Years back, her knees had begun to tremble whenever she rose from her armchair, so she needed someone or something to hold onto when she walked. Come to think of it, it was the first time I had seen her tending to her garden since I was little.
“Yes, of course Grandma.”
“Thank you.”
She set the watering can down atop a short mound of dirt, dusting off her hands before wandering indoors. Her gumboots left clear imprints in the soil.
I gazed beyond the garden, towards the vast stretch of plains. I had never ventured far beyond the home before, mostly because of the dark mountain ranges that lay at the end of the open lands. Beyond great expanses of swaying grass, blooming wildflowers, and the occasional sprawling tree stood the mountains, firmly rooted. I had no interest in traversing the plains just to explore them. They were the only thing obstructing the sun, whose yolky centre could only ever be half seen. There was no dawn or dusk, just an eternal state of in-between. I turned to head indoors, finding my grandmother washing a couple of apples. I fetched the rattan picnic basket from the cupboard, brushing off the light layer of dust that had gathered in its gaps.
I slipped my arm into the nook of Grandma’s elbow, and she pulled it closer to the white chrysanthemums embroidered on her shirt. The basket bumped into my hip as I shut the door and we began our walk.
The swaying grass tickled our legs, making the both of us giggle. Grandma leant down, pulled a tuft out of the ground, and threw it in the air, showering us in green. As the cottage grew smaller and smaller in the distance, her breath became more and more shallow and she tapped my arm – my sign to lay out the mat. We found shade under the curtain-like branches of a willow tree. Grandma gestured to the basket and then the apples, spoon, and knife inside. I handed the items to her, and she cut the fruit in half and began to scrape the flesh. Then, she fed me the sweet, pulpy juice, just like she had done when I visited her home in the summer and laid in the warmth of her lap for my afternoon snack. I took the other half of the apple from her and tried digging for its flesh, taken aback when I realised how tough the surface was to break. She laughed and scooped the apple back into her hands, dragging the spoon across it once more. I insisted that she eat some of it herself, but she only chewed on the skin.
“Leave the basket here, sweetheart, we can collect it on our way back.” With that, it was time to set off once again.
I turned back every so often until I could no longer spot the house, somewhat excited to venture so far beyond the familiar. Grandma, however, kept her gaze on the mountains. I didn’t know if she had the energy to travel all the way there and back, given her condition. What seemed to replenish her spirit was plucking flowers along the way. She told me all about every kind – what seasons they grew in, what type of soil was best for planting them in, and so on. She raised each one to her nose before tucking them into her hat.
“Grandma,” I chuckled, “you have a whole bouquet on your head!”
She pinched my cheek and grinned, exclaiming, “And so be it!”
As she adjusted the dainty posy atop her head, Grandma reminisced about the day she had rushed to the hospital with Grandpa and caressed my tiny hand in hers. While I trained my eyes on the side of her face, she only occasionally flickered hers in my direction. She continued to pat my hand as she recalled the impromptu dance concerts she had watched, the number of my slightly odd-tasting desserts that she had tried, and the framed school photos of mine that lined her hallways. I chimed in to express the admiration I had always held for the sincerity tucked within her gaze. A pleasant breeze carried her periodic whistles across the landscape.
The sun cast longer and longer shadows across the footsteps we had left behind. I noticed the weight of her arm on mine more and more. It became increasingly difficult to separate the blades of grass from one another, as their dance grew hurried. For an inexplicable reason, I slipped my arm away from Grandma’s to duck down and rip a handful of green out of the ground, acknowledging it for but a moment before tossing it over her. Her face remained placid as she watched the grass rest beside her shoes. She removed her hat, fussing over the arrangement of the bright array of flowers once more before presenting it to me. I knotted the pale ribbons beneath my chin as she continued to watch the scattered grass quiver and gradually tumble away with the wind.
Fog gathered as we neared the foot of the mountains. I couldn’t make out where they began. Grandma, however, led the way. She had never been much of an adventurer – I was confused by the sudden determination. We came to a stop exactly where the range started.
“Well, we’ve seen it now, Grandma. Should we start walking back?”
She faced me, planting a kiss on my cheek. She straightened the hat that she had bestowed to me before beginning to climb the steep incline between two cliff faces, glancing back once to smile.
I moved to follow but the mist’s gentle hold reassured me, so I remained still, watching her stride further and further. Squinting, I traced thin rays of sunlight as they pulled away, climbing back up the wall.
The mountains were houses. Rows and rows of homes jutting out of one another, reaching the heavens. I could almost see into each window, no matter how high they were placed. The sound of humming floated down from each house as faint shadows rocked beside fireplaces. Figures with eyes as dark as the smoke carrying their whistles looked back towards me, raising their hands to wave.
