Cursing hawks or foxes was the only act of malice that ever took place there since the end of the war.
Most of her life unfolded around the house, tending to a small paradise filled with peaceful creatures.
Her gossiping hens, rheumatic ducks, geese believing they were either swans or ballerinas, turkeys with aristocratic airs, two or three introverted, almost philosophical sheep, a hysterical goat who believed once it saw the devil, a cranky but witty pig, and a lazy, lazy dog.
A dog.
A dog whose only zest for life came from a daily piece of dried polenta thrown just beyond the end of his leash. He was usually kept well tied to keep safe a gang of neurotic cats forever stalking mice, birds, and ferocious dragonflies.
They were her entire world.
She lived alone on the outskirts of the village, atop an insignificant hill. Her husband died many years ago of pneumonia in his only lung left after being shot on the East Front. Yet, after his passing, she continued to talk to him every day with the reassuring, warm promise that one day they'd talk face to face once again.
Each summer, she toiled for a miserable wage on a nearby co-op field, weeding under a scorching sun.
Gruelling.
She needed the money to pay for a round, dark loaf of bread once a week. A handful of church candles. Lamp oil when needed. A little money set aside each month for cheap clothes and shoes every few years.
Above all, mint candies were always at the top of the list for her grandkids. City brats who used to visit her every summer for a few weeks to experience the exuberance of a slow-moving time and the magic of simple things.
Those brats were my siblings and me.
On Sundays, she used to bring Mother Mary fresh, delicate flowers from her garden, with light in her eyes and warmth in her heart.
A life fulfilled. Or so it felt.
Aside from once being a child with dreams too, she had a closely kept secret.
A small window in her bedroom that let her look at invisible things.
A secret that one day she shared with me to keep my thoughts from wandering alone through the nearby dark forest.
"Go look through that window," she said, "what do you see?"
Unsure, I looked. There, outside, was a beautiful peacock looking straight at me.
"Grandma! I see a peacock!"
"Good that you see it," she replied. "I need to tell you something important. Peacocks do not live here. That is not a peacock."
"What is it then?"
"It's a warning. A warning about everything that will go wrong if you ever go by yourself, alone, to the forest."
"Why, how? I don't understand."
She stopped and looked deep into my eyes.
"It was sent here by the Iele - the beautiful and dangerous women of the forest - to warn you and keep you away. If you dare to watch them and interrupt their dance, you'll go blind, you'll drown, and you'll die. Do not ever go by yourself to the forest!"
"But, Grandma, where would I drown? There were no lakes or rivers nearby."
"In a well," she said. "Far away."
I felt a sharp chill running through my arms and legs, but I didn't want to believe her.
Once she told me that, one day, while she was trimming grapevines, a ball of fire came flying and sang to her the most beautiful song she had ever heard.
Another time, she was going to fetch water from down the hill and on the way there she met a very tall, beautiful woman. Clothed in a soft silver dress, she said, and that woman told her, without words, that "It will happen."
Happen what? My grandmother always made up stories that I couldn't understand.
Lights dancing in the sky. People coming out from the forest to enter a house nearby. A house that collapsed ages ago, which, at least during the day, was just an empty ruin.
And now warning peacocks.
Keeping my thoughts and every feeling to myself so as not to get in trouble, I had no plan to give in to fear and obey her. More than ever, the forest became a need.
A few days passed, and eventually, one night when she was asleep, I sneaked out.
The full moonlight was shedding emotions of Christmas, soaking the world in the middle of the summer. I was afraid. Very afraid.
Not far, I heard singing and laughter - the laughter of young women. I carefully went in that direction, holding my breath. There, in front of me, beautiful young women were dancing naked, in circles. My heart was drumming and drumming me out.
My grandma was right. They were the Iele dancing. I tried to run away, but my legs were stubborn like me. They wouldn't listen.
One woman spotted me and stopped dancing. She pointed to me.
"Here you are. We've been waiting for you," she said. "Now you come dance with us."
"I don't know how to dance..." I choked.
"You don't know how to listen either." She laughed. "You'll now have to learn."
She grabbed my hand and pulled me into the spiral of their dance. The sky was moving around, all around.
I felt sorry. I felt sorry for my grandmother having to miss me every morning forward. I thought I was done for.
Just when I surrendered to acceptance, the sky stopped. Only a cold breeze was still swirling. The beautiful women disappeared. Only one left. She looked at me and smiled. Deep.
Then she turned into a gorgon. Eventually, into a half-dead tree whose roots slowly began growing toward me. Before she disappeared too.
I was still alive. Stunned.
I started moving again only when I heard cracking branches behind me. The forest was just steps away. Something moved in the darkness, freezing me in place. That's when a majestic stag appeared. It looked at me and began pawing the ground.
"Go back to where you came from!" it told me, without a word.
I dropped face down on the ground. I was afraid to look. I didn't want to see anything anymore. I just wanted to go back home, but grandma's house wasn't there anymore. Turning my head back, along my body, I could only see just the house that wasn't supposed to exist and nothing else. I felt I was in unbearable trouble. Slowly, I moved my head back up to ask that stag what was going on. It wasn't there anymore. It too disappeared. It gave way to a small group of strange people wearing dress-like white clothes and wooden sandals. They were laughing and talking to each other in a weird, yet familiar language. I didn't understand much. Just "It happens". "Accidit". Then laughter.
They just passed by me and acted like they didn't see me at all. They approached the house and, one by one, entered in no rush, like going to a planned get-together.
I got up slowly and walked toward that house. I looked inside through maybe the only window that house had. Inside, the newcomers sat at a massive but rotten wooden table, all with pitchers filled with red wine in their hands. In between them, a very, very old man, almost bald but with an unusually long white beard, was telling them the story about his son who went to war and never returned. The chairs and the table were all the furniture in that house.
Moments later, I felt a presence behind me. I turned. And there he was. The peacock again.
I passed out.
When I woke up, the Sun was already warm, and the dog was licking my face to wash off the fear stuck over my smile. ◇
Many, many years later, a friend of mine called me.
"Hey buddy, I met a super good-looking woman last night while delivering tickets to an upcoming show. I absolutely need to impress her because I want to hook up. I want to sleep with her," he told me.
"You lost your mind. What does it have to do with me? What are you talking about?" I asked.
"I need you to pull up some strings and get her hired at Rogers. She's a QA analyst. She doesn't have a job, and she needs one. I need you to pass her resume to the right people."
At that time, this friend of mine was notorious for picking up the worst possible women. I was a technical manager at Rogers, one of the largest Canadian telecom companies. He thought I could do some magic there.
"Listen," I replied, "I won't do anything unless I meet her first. To make sure I don't embarrass myself. Sorry, but we both agree, your taste in women doesn't exactly match the corporate finesse."
"Fine. When can you meet her?"
"After 5 PM, any weekday."
"Ok, I'll tell her to go to your office tomorrow night."
The second day was heavy. It rained, and it rained. The Sun called in sick.
I met her in the lobby of the office building. Poorly clothed for that day, she was wet and chilled to the bone. She was sad but beautiful. I invited her to a cafe nearby to sit down and talk.
At first, we talked about her skills and the job she hopes to find. However, it only took minutes for the discussion to derail into anything but business. Instead, there was a forceful need to condense shared life stories as much as possible. There was no time to waste. I liked her. I felt like I was the finder, not my friend. I needed her. She smiled. Deep.
The strings I pulled to get her hired didn't work out. She wasn't able to pass the HR interview.
I took her home.
She was just a lady in red.
I drowned. Lost. In the well of passion.
Only for her to erase all colours. My friend never got to know; he never needed my help.
The last time I saw my grandmother, she was blind. Completely blind. She smiled and said with all her heart: "I'm happy, I'm so happy to see you again."
That place no longer exists.
The peacock left.