In Between Minds: Babushka

But not today, Grandmother continued. She drew in a deep breath. I love the scent of harvest time. She closed her eyes and inclined her head slightly. After a few moments, she spoke quietly and calmy. “Shortly, a r-rabbit w-w-will hop into the f-fire light. K-kill it and w-w-we’ll have it for d-dinner.” She maintained her meditative pose.

We were on a low bluff overlooking the railroad track. To the west lay Riga, my original destination, but I contemplated the dark eastern sky.

The brush behind us rustled and the promised rabbit appeared in the warm glow. It didn’t move as I took it by the scruff. I broke the neck quickly. Grandmother sighed and opened her eyes.

She withdrew a knife from her coat and offered it to me. I quickly skinned the animal. As I finished that, Grandmother tapped me on the shoulder with a straight, peeled stick on which to cook the rabbit.

These too, please. She held out two potatoes.

“You’re handy to have around, Grandmother.”

Child, you have no idea. She smiled.

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