Wolf: My Grandmother Rose Willeford

Wolf dreams a childhood memory

Wolf has an empty jam jar. Wolf looks up at Grandmother Rose and Wolf asks, What are the three most important things in life? Grandmother Rose is peeling potatoes at the time, standing at the sink. It is about to rain and the washing is on the line. Rose wonders if she should fetch it in or wait and chance it. The potatoes are muddy and old, the skins as thick as shoe tongues. It has been a long life for the potatoes, for the rain and for Grandmother Rose too. She sighs and feels tired, very tired of her curious grandchild’s questions, tired of the house, tired of her shape and the shape she must be to fit in this world. She is so tired. She is tired of the curve of her back and the curve of the earth.

Her grandchild Wolf grows impatient and yanks on Rose’s apron and Wolf asks again: What are the three most important things in life? Grandmother Rose shakes her head slowly, noticing her hands are cold and numb in the dirty potato water. One raindrop spits onto the kitchen window, followed by five more, spit spit spit says the old rain, spit spit. The washing will get wet unless Rose is quick, the sky is a dark violet colour.

Hey, Wolf tries, one more time, what are the three most important things in life? The potatoes are peeled and bald in a bowl of salt water. Rose wipes her hands and darts out of the kitchen door to gather the washing from the line. The rain falls sudden, in sloops, rainwater runs and slurps from the gutter; the clean sheets are soaked through.

Wolf stands by the door for a time, watching the rain batter the laundry, old Rose standing in the old roses growing in the garden. Wolf takes it all in: the apple tree, the long green grass, the purplish sky. Mrs Rose Willeford all white-haired. The white bedsheets, her mouth full of clothes pegs, her apron pocket bulging with more wooden clothes pegs. Wet apples, wet grass and the wet old lady. Wolf leaves the empty jam jar on the step to fill with raindrops.