When they arrived at the house, Marko saw his grandmother first, smiling and rushing toward the car. Marko felt the smile on his face widen and it made him realize his skin was dry. The big smile seemed to stretch and bunch and crack all the skin on his face and he wondered if he looked old too.
His grandmother opened his door and hugged him and then unbuckled his seat belt. She said something in Bulgarian but Marko didn’t understand. He just said, “Hi, Grandma!” Marko’s mom was busy unloading the car with their bags. She was struggling with the big one, Marko’s, which was bigger than him and probably heavier. It carried everything Marko needed for a whole month away, the longest Marko had ever been away from home. Marko was shocked at how much space the catheter packs alone took up—thirty or forty of them filled half the cavernous space and a bunch more had to be shipped there.
Marko’s grandmother scurried away to help his mom. She was never able to watch someone doing work without rising to help. Marko tried to think of the last time he had seen his grandmother sit down other than for meals. He could only think of times when he was still small enough to be held. Then she would sit and hold him and rock him. But that didn’t count as sitting so much because she was still doing something. She never just did nothing. Marko wondered if she even slept at night.
He watched her face collapse into a grimace as she pulled items from the car. That was the other thing about her that Marko noticed—even though she always helped, she never seemed happy about it. Rather, she looked stressed while she helped.
Marko looked toward the house and saw his grandfather, who was an older version of Aleks. He stood in the doorway of the house and smiled. Marko was surprised to see him standing. He thought someone who was about to die would be permanently lying in bed. Marko waved and his grandfather waved back but didn’t approach the car or move away from the doorway; he just stood there waving and smiling, bent forward a little. He looked tired.
Then, slowly, the old man approached the car. He crept closer with small, shuffling steps. His hands balled up in his pockets and he smiled. He was nodding continuously but just slightly. Marko saw that it was because he was shaking, trembling all over.
“You must be Marko,” he said. His accent was thick like Aleks’s. His face, closer up, was pocked and gaunt, a shadow of whiskers spread across his chin and the hollows of his cheeks. He resembled Marko’s mom but also Marko’s grandmother. They had the same slight frame and the same eyes, maybe even the same noses. They looked like they could have been siblings.
“You must be my grandfather,” Marko said and smiled. The old man smiled wider. When he was close, almost upon Marko, he stretched out his arms like wing bones and descended for a hug. Marko reached up hesitantly, worried that the frail man would fall, crashing into him. But he didn’t fall. His hug felt surprisingly hearty—there was much more power in this man than his appearance revealed.
Marko watched through a crack in the hug while his mother and grandmother dragged his huge suitcase into the house. He regarded the yard, overgrown with grass and weeds but also wildflowers—sprays of unexpected brightness through the drab. A fruit tree, its branches heavy with orbs, bent toward the tall grass.
“What kind of fruit tree is that?” Marko asked. The question prompted his grandfather to finally pull away from his tight embrace. As he did, Marko noticed that his grandfather was crying. He wiped his face with a pale blue handkerchief, honked his nose quickly into it, then folded it and shoved it back into his pocket.
“Pears,” he said. “And we have grapes in the backyard and beautiful blackberries all around the edges.” He beamed with pride. “Would you like to taste them? All but the pears; those aren’t ready yet.”
“Sure,” Marko said. His grandfather stood there as if waiting for Marko to get up and walk around with him.
“Can you bring my wheelchair around?” Marko pointed toward the back of the car where his chair was unloaded and waiting on the ground.
“Oh, yes yes,” the old man said and retrieved the chair. Just then Marko’s mom came back out.
“I got it, Dad,” she said quickly. Marko’s grandpa stood and faced her. He wasn’t smiling anymore. His eyes were swimming. Marko couldn’t tell whether the old man had bad allergies or was overcome with emotion. He reached his arms out and said something in Bulgarian. Marko watched his mom walk into her father’s embrace. She looked stiff and uncomfortable there and she pulled back quickly. It was hard for her to get away because he was trying to hold on. After an awkward moment where he pulled her shirt, the old man finally let go of her and she stepped away.
The old man turned and walked out into the yard. Marko’s mom got the wheelchair and helped Marko into it. She had the same frown that Marko’s grandmother had when helping him do things, and it made him feel bad. It probably meant that she was ashamed of him and hated having to do everything for him. But then he saw his grandfather wandering in the yard and thought maybe she was frowning because of him, the old man.
His mom pushed his chair up onto the paved walkway around the house, pivoting him up two small steps along the way. Once up, she let him take over. Marko turned his chair and faced her but she was already walking away.
“Mom,” he called. She turned and walked back. She leaned down to him and smoothed his hair.
“Are you okay?” she asked and kissed his forehead. He felt its warmth radiate through his whole head and down his neck.
“You okay?” he asked her. She gave him a fake, tight smile and nodded.
“Go check everything out,” she said. “This is where I lived from the time I was about your age, a little older, until I left.” She walked down the steps and disappeared into the house. Marko looked through the window and saw stairs. These must be the stairs his mother had told him about—and beneath them, so close, the dream bed portal his mom had discovered as a girl. He felt his pulse quicken. With so many eyes on him, though, he would have to wait until the middle of the night when everyone was sleeping to check it out.
“Try some grapes?”
Marko startled. His grandfather was close, right beside him with a handful of grapes. Marko hadn’t seen or heard or even sensed him coming. It was as if he was a ghost. This made Marko feel closer to him. Marko looked at the purple orbs in the old man’s large, weathered hand and then peered up into his face. The sun behind his head blacked out most of his features but Marko could see that his jaw was working. The old man lifted his empty hand to his mouth and carefully spit seeds into it and then showed them to Marko.
“Don’t eat these part,” he said.
Marko ate a grape from the offering palm of his grandfather. He chewed into the seeds, which released a bitter taste to mingle with the sour juice and tart skin. He enjoyed the textures and flavors his mouth contained while he chewed. He squinted up at his grandfather. “Good,” he said.