Leprechaun

With many apologies to my Irish friends for illicitly appropriating and adapting a Leprechaun.

by JunoMagic
Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives-ShareAlike license

Leprechaun

Tonight I want to tell you a story about my grandmother. She was living alone when this happened. Her children were grown and living far away with children of their own. The other distant relatives she had left, lived even farther away. Her husband had died years ago.

So she lived alone in her tiny ramshackle house upon the hill, just with her five cats, her old dog, four hens and a rooster in the yard, three woolly sheep on the meadow up on the hill, nine rabbits, and a tiny mouse in the cellar that was clever enough not to let the cats catch her.

She had no car, and the one small village within walking distance boasted not even a pub. While she did have a TV, she did not have a satellite dish, so she had to make do with three programmes and another two, if the weather was nice. Sometimes, when wind and rain came from the west, she thought there was a sixth programme somewhere in there, but she wasn’t quite sure.

Not that she had much time to check that. You see, my grandmother was always busy and rarely got the chance to sit down and relax. Although she lived all alone now, and didn’t need much, she continued to live the way she’d always lived.

She kept up the garden. A vegetable garden, a flower garden, and the lawn behind the house for the few times a year when the grandchildren would come and visit her. She also took care of the orchard, although climbing the trees was getting a bit cumbersome and dangerous.

Each season had its own work. Planting and cleaning in spring. Fighting weeds, gathering the first fruits and vegetables in summer – strawberries, cherries, plums – along with cooking the first fresh jams and jellies of the year. In autumn, the harvest. Apples, pears, pumpkins, nuts. More jams and jellies, preserves and compotes. Waste not, want not. And she still remembered the war, when they’d made bread from potato peels. So year after year, she lined her larder with jars and glasses, bottles and boxes, and filled up her freezer.

Apart from that, she had to take care of the animals. The rabbits needed fresh grass and clover every day. And both sheep and rabbits needed hay and straw. The chickens had to be fed, the eggs had to be discovered, and the rooster threatened with frying pan if he didn’t want her to interfere with his ladies. The cats must be taken care of – fleas or ticks were not allowed in the house. And now and again my grandmother made a half-hearted attempt at catching the clever mouse in the cellar.

At last it was winter, the garden asleep, black earth under a light white blanket of snow. My grandmother could sit for a bit and watch the birds and the squirrels frolicking around the bird feeder. She could crack some walnuts and hazelnuts and the almonds she bought at the trader that came by with his van once a week.

But still she kept busy. A huge cardboard ton that had once upon a time contained enough detergent to keep a family of six or seven clean was now filled with wool. All winter long she worked, crocheting and knitting, table mats and coasters, socks and cardigans, blankets, quilts and curtains.

That one evening she was knitting, too. It was bitterly cold outside, the snow piled high and she hadn’t seen another person in two weeks. But she had her cats, and she hoped there was still enough oil left to fuel the heating until spring. And the walnuts were particularly good this year.

Suddenly someone knocked on the door.

My grandmother rose to her feet and went to the door, casting just a quick glance out the window to make sure it wasn’t a robber, murderer or killer. (I guess that was a time when you could still see that sort of thing at a glance.)

It was a tiny old man, much older even than she was, dressed in a very beautiful, but also very old-fashioned emerald green suit. At his feet he wore the shiniest black leather shoes she’d ever seen, and she thought she might have used the silver buckles as mirrors were they only a bit bigger, so bright were they.

‘He must have been caught by the storm, the poor man,’ my grandmother thought and opened the door.

‘Evening,’ the old man growled, ‘for good ’tis certainly not, and my lot is less, and my temper – but I digress. What is your wish, I want to be done with this.’

My grandmother blinked, somewhat taken aback both at his odd speech and his crotchety manner. ‘I -‘ she stammered, ‘I wish for you to come in and sit down. The walnuts are particularly good this year.’

He stared at her for a moment, but did as she asked.

Once he was seated in the living room, he started again, ‘Now I’m here, my dear. Let’s get on with it, though I must say I do enjoy to sit for a bit. Tell me now, what is it you wish for, you old -‘

I’m afraid my grandmother didn’t really pay attention to what the old man said. She was much too busy thinking about supper. It had been a while since she’d had to cook for a guest.

But as she put a new bowl with walnuts down before him, she smiled. ‘Yes, it’s good to sit for a bit, isn’t it? That’s what winter is for. Though come spring, I must say I’m also always happy to get going again. Now, what I’d like you to do is, please tell me – what would you prefer for supper, cauliflower soup and rabbit stew, or we could have some kale soup and a lamb roast. Only potatoes and bread to go with it, I’m afraid. And I don’t keep ale in the house anymore. But I have very nice apple juice from my own apples. And a home-made cherry cordial that tastes almost like sherry.’

The old man frowned fiercely at my grandmother. ‘Cauliflower soup and rabbit stew will do. I’m not so fond of kale and lamb, I must say. And truth be told, a spot of cherry cordial wouldn’t come amiss. ‘Tis wicked cold out there.’

‘You do look all frozen, sir,’ my grandmother said, already on her way to the cabinet that held her home-made liquors and cordials. ‘Have you been travelling far, then?’

He gave her another odd look. ‘You could say that, Madam.’

She handed him a large crystal glass with cherry cordial, but before he could say anything else, she bustled away into the kitchen. Happily she clinked and clanked around with pots and pens, defrosting the rabbit stew in the microwave while putting on the home-made broth for the cauliflower soup. She cut the cauliflower while it was still half-frozen and swiftly peeled a heap of potatoes. That poor man looked as if he could stand a pound of them.

Oh! Busy in her kitchen, she’d almost forgotten to check on her unexpected guest. Quickly she made a bread spread thick with fresh lard and bacon bits, dusted chives over it and took it into the living room.

‘Just to tide you over,’ she announced.

When she placed it before the old man, she noticed something strange. All five of her cats had been sitting before him in a half-circle. Almost as if they’d been talking to him. But when she looked at them again, one was washing its behind and the other walloped his sister with well-aimed smack over the ears. She must have been mistaken.

The old man, however, looked at her about as flustered as she herself felt. Self-consciously she patted her grey curls. She knew it was high time to visit the hairdresser again, but that was expensive and in the next town. She sighed internally. She’d have to make sure to catch a ride next time someone from the village went there.

‘The soup will be ready soon,’ she reassured her guest. ‘I’ll just air the dining room for a second and get out the silver and a nice table-cloth. Can’t send you back into that weather without something fortifying in the stomach, now can I?’

The wrinkled old man opened his mouth and closed it again.

When she came to tell him that dinner was on the table, he spoke again: ‘I don’t know what to make of this strange bliss. Won’t you tell me what’s amiss? Ask me for that and ask me for this?’

My grandmother thought he was implying that she didn’t trust him – a stranger come to her home on a dark winter’s night. And she was aware that this might not have the most prudent thing to do. But she was old, and she was alone. And she did remember the times when stranger had taken her and her daughter in during the war, when they were fleeing from the approaching enemy…

‘Nothing’s wrong,’ she assured him. ‘Don’t worry. Please, I would like you to come with me, so we can have a lovely dinner in the dining room. Living all alone, I rarely use it these days.’

The old man just shook his head, at a loss.

In the dining room, my grandmother had even lit a candle. It was an especially ugly candle, fat and white with wiggly pink and orange designs that clashed something fierce with the pale green décor of the room. But a grandchild had made it for her, and even though she wasn’t a candle person – she was much too busy a person to enjoy long evenings of doing nothing but staring at candle flames -, she treasured it because a grandchild had given it to her.

During dinner, the little old man was more at ease. They talked about the weather – it seemed he had indeed come from far away and still had to drive quite a distance before he could call it a day -, walnuts (the old man agreed that they were particularly good this year), cats, gardens, and many other things besides. My grandmother was careful not to talk about religion, politics or money, just the way her mother had taught her to converse, once upon a long, long time ago.

Only once a sigh escaped her. ‘I must say, I do hope the winter will be a short one this year and get warmer from now on. You know how high the prices for oil are … I’m used to making do, of course. But I still hope the oil I’ve bought will last until spring. But forgive me – can I get you some pudding? Maybe some compote. I’ve got apples, pears, plums, or fruit in rum.’

They passed another hour or two chatting and drinking a few cups of hot tea – ‘Something hot to keep you warm on your way.’ – before the old man in that strange green suit took his leave.

On the doorstep, he took my grandmother’s hand and dusted a kiss on the back of her hand. ‘So that is all you wish for?’ he asked, ‘To stay warm until spring?’

My grandmother laughed a bit. ‘Oh, yes, if the oil were to last that would be a weight off my heart. If you’re asking what I expect of life – well, I’ve lived it, for the most part. Not particularly well, I sometimes think. I’ve done the best I could, though, even if it wasn’t good enough at times.’ Sombre, she looked at him, and suddenly seemed about as wrinkled and old as he was. ‘My children and grandchildren to do well, of course.’ And then she sighed. ‘And to die in my bed one day.’

‘Well is always relative,’ the old man cautioned. ‘And dying is an uncomfortable business, in your bed or without.’

‘You’re right, certainly,’ my grandmother agreed. ‘But there’s nothing you can do about that, is there? All grandmothers wish their children and grandchildren well. And they all must die one day.’

‘Wise words,’ the old man said. Then he disappeared into the dark winter night without another word.

Later my grandmother wondered why she’d never heard a car. But maybe she’d just been too occupied with her knitting to pay attention. Or he’d parked down at the foot of the hill.

All I can say is that I think it must have been a Leprechaun come visiting my grandmother that winter night. Because the oil in her tank lasted until the first day of spring (although it really shouldn’t have). And all her living children and grandchildren are doing well (relatively speaking, of course).

And while dying indeed turned out to be a very uncomfortable business for my grandmother, she was allowed to die in peace, and in her own bed.

Song of the day:

Link(s) of the day:

The Leprechaun Companion | The Leprechaun Watch

…and my wish for you today is:

A busy life, a generous heart, and the wisdom to wish for the right things at the right time.

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