Her father put pillows behind her mother’s back. She was gasping for air. Her eyes betrayed that she was still wandering from nowhere towards his arms. Wine, sleeping pills, coma …

“It’ll be OK,” her father kept repeating. “All will be fine.”

Mia pressed her wet cheek against her mother’s breast. Her mother’s heart was pounding like mad. Fast, loud and hollowsounding. Her father slumped beside her. For a brief while they sat thus and listened to how life revives. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.

Mia, crying silently and painfully, rested her head in her father’s lap. Her father gently stroked her hair.

Mia floats slowly on her back. Following the calm drifting clouds. When Mia returns from her swim, she sees that her father has carried a mass of blossoming branches into her mother’s room. Tomorrow she will come home.

Amaryllii

Ella will soon be unable to manage the spiral stairs. She should have settled Francis in down here, in the kitchen. It is cosy here. A glazed tile stove. Its brick inglenook on which she can dry beans, teas and mushrooms. Everything is close at hand – water, trash pails and her ironing board. Here she chats with the post mistress, who brings their two pensions and occasionally the neighbour woman stops by, who on her old German-made Erenpreis bicycle delivers milk to well-to-do homes.

Ella and Francis’ home too is grand. When they first came here, they wanted to have the largest house in the neighbourhood. At that time they could afford it. They dug, planted, harvested their crop, sold it and sold it, dug, planted, gathered their crop … Thus they could make a tidy sum. Through all that frenzied activity the children took off one by one, as did the grandchildren.

Ella is of the opinion that throughout her life she has been very fair and has worked very hard. Francis has the opinions that Ella has, or else he keeps his opinions to himself. But why did they all run off ?