Grandmama

&;#9;The child is late, as usual. It's my daughter-in-law's
fault - as usual. My halfwit son can't, or won't do anything about the
way she raises that stupid girl. She dresses her in red and then sends
her out to me so she can lead the boys on. We've all done it of course
but there's a proper way. No need to flaunt everything at
once.

&;#9;Nothing more than a cheap slut. She'll get no respect
that way.

&;#9;And I won't get my groceries.

&;#9;How am I supposed to eat when all that I have left by
the time that good-for-nothing shows up are the scraps in the basket
that she didn't want to eat? Oh, grandmama she'll
say, it's dangerous out there. And she'll show me a scratch on her arm
or a tear in her dress and start weaving some tale. But I'll cut her
short. Aye, I know there's danger, I'll say, but not in the way you're
describing - look at you! And she'll pull up short and get in a huff.
But then flutter, flutter like
she does to the boys.

&;#9;God, I'm sick of the waiting. Stuck here all alone,
listening to the shuffles of nature outside. Blast that
child!

&;#9;A tear at the door, a
scratching&;#8230;

&;#9;It'll be those boys from the farm again.
They think they're cocks of the new world when all they are is young
boys with money and time.

&;#9;Scratch, scratch,
sniff&;#8230;

&;#9;Why don't they go away? Have they no
respect? An old woman, alone in her home. I was as beautiful as that
once. Boys chased after me for all the good it did
them.

&;#9;Scratch, tear&;#8230;

&;#9;That'll have ripped right through the
paintwork. What the hell is going on out there? I
grab a kitchen knife from the drawer and stalk up behind the
door.

&;#9;Scratch, tear, sniff, sniff,
sniff&;#8230;

&;#9;I'll give you, you pervert, sniffing an old lady's
door you rich -

&;#9;I open the door, knife in hand and a streak of fur and
red roars up to greet me.

&;#9;I wake in darkness. Locked tight somewhere small and
cramped. The smell of turned meat is overwhelming. There is no
light.

&;#9;A few muffled sounds from outside: a girlie squeal and
a low growl.

&;#9;I think of the story of Jonah and the whale and the
stern look on the Pastor's face as he told us about the fires of hell
that awaited the sinners for the sins of Eve.

&;#9;No fire. I stick out my finger as far as I can and
touch moist flesh.

&;#9;Movement, a rumble, underneath
me.

&;#9;When I was a girl we used to hide under the
trees in the autumn leaves as if we wearing coats of orange and brown.
The adults would walk by unaware of where we were.

&;#9;Another movement,
violent&;#8230;

&;#9;I am in a cage of flesh and bone and it is
leaping forward, but then, as suddenly it stops, falls and there is the
sound of the ground being hit.

A girlie squeal and a tearing as a knife cuts around me and I
am pulled into the light. A young man of 20 is holding a bloody knife.
It's okay, I killed the wolf, he says.

Oh, grandmama, says the child and throws
herself at him, wrapping her arms around him and
kissing his lips, his cheeks, his neck.

What a tart.