Chapter 1
Her tears seemed to freeze on
her cheeks, snot was running from her nose and her hands were numb. But she
couldn’t stop now; she just had to carry on, no matter how rotten she felt. The
grinding sound of the chain saw was starting to become simply white noise, a
background to her pain, the constant companion to her misery. Straightening, she looked around her. The
wood lay in messy piles around the yard where once the walnut tree had stood
and since fallen. The smell of the freshly cut wood, was lost in the wild wind
that had whipped up earlier in the morning. Normally, whatever that meant now,
the aroma of the wood would be pleasant, now though it only punctuated her
depression. She couldn’t stop because if she did not have enough wood for her
fireplace she would surely not make the night. The sun was setting even though
it was only just after five. But she couldn’t feel her feet anymore either and
the snow that had fallen last night was grey sludge intent on becoming frozen
mud. It was time to get inside.
She gathered up as much as she
could carry and trudged up the stairs to the back door. Every muscle in her
body ached. Her breath puffed in front of her face in white clouds. She dumped
the wood just inside the kitchen and headed out for another armload.
“Blast it.” she grunted out
loud as she slipped on the stairs.
Struggling to regain her
balance she soldiered on. After another four trips carrying now sodden wood she
finally wrapped up the lead to the chainsaw and brought it inside too.
Lighting the fire was one of
the most satisfactory things she had done all day. Because it meant another
harrowing day was done. It was behind her. Finished, krai!(one of my few
Bulgarian words)
Almost two hours later, she
was sitting in front of the fireplace with a cup of soup, and a chunk of
yesterday’s banitsa. Her feet had finally defrosted and she could feel her
hands now, warming around the chipped mug. As she looked around her she
experienced a sense of pride. She had actually managed to make this one room
into a home. Well sort of, anyway. The ancient wooden vat that served as a table
was covered in a bright red checked cloth that she found down in the
basement. Her “bed” consisted of two
pallets which she managed to skive from the old man down at the cheese factory
near the river, padded with an ancient feather tick, also rescued from the
basement. Her blankets and the pillow with a case were the only new items in
the room. Everything else seemed to date from before the flood. But for now
this was home and her bed was calling her name.
The clip-clopping of horse’s
hooves on the cobbled road woke her, intruding on her first good night’s sleep
since coming to this God forsaken place. She had awoken in the night only once,
when she added more precious wood to the fire. At least she wasn’t shivering with cold, of
course that was about to change as she considered braving the toilet trip.
What is it with the severe
lack of ablutions in Bulgaria? How difficult was it to include a decent
bathroom in house plans? Heaving her heavy, aching body over the edge of the
bed, she yanked her courage back from the other room and after donning gloves,
jacket and wellies, made her way down the garden path to the sad outhouse,
being careful not to slip.
Cleaning out the old ash was a
crappy, dirty job, but as she was the one who wanted to get away from everyone,
great as the idea was, meant she had to
do all the work herself. She was not used to this, and considered it cruel and
unusual punishment.
Of course once the leaking
kettle was whistling, heralding a mug of tea, cleaning out the pechka didn’t
seem such a big price to pay.
After drinking her tea and
straightening her home, she did her teeth and pulled a brush through her hair
before tucking it up under a woollen beanie. The outdoors was waiting. She was
energised so she figured she may as well put the energy to good use and
continue with the wood harvesting. She
decided that she would do a little each day, that way she can start to build
some stock. She was grateful for the gloves as she grabbed wood and stacked it
against the wall under the roof near the kitchen door. Splinters were not her
idea of fun . She had cleared the mess from the previous day, and realised that
the pile was quite substantial. More than she had hoped for. But after an hour
, she was already shot. Her body insisted on complaining about all the foreign
forced activity and demanded a break. She leaned against the trough, and looked
around her. The sky was a bright clear blue the tree skeletons a stark grey
against the sky. Red rooftops dotted in between the branches of the wintry
trees, chimneys pluming smoke. It was a comforting sight. It was peaceful.
Dilapidated buildings sidled next to well-maintained houses and barns. The grey
flat stones of the buildings were amazing. She had never seen so many old
buildings before. It was the stuff that the masters painted. Especially with
the sunlight playing on the walls. Snow still leaned up against the corners of
buildings, and next to stone boundary walls.
The village was a tranquil scene, even though there were no people around. The snow-capped mountains in the distance
were magnificent. Every so often she would hear dogs barking. She was warmer than when she had started off,
but a hot drink would sure go down well.
While the kettle boiled, she
got busy on the second room downstairs. She hadn’t even gone upstairs since
buying the place. She wasn’t really a stairs kind of person. And in any case
the stairwell was a little dodgy. Four steps complained bitterly each time she
stepped on them and a banister would have made her feel a lot better. That was
another days’ challenge though.
When she saw the house at the
time the agent showed it to her, she did not really understand that all that
was in it at the time of viewing was going to remain in it, and was up to her
to sort out. The house has been uninhabited for five years and the contents had
collected dust and animals during that time. It was a good thing though as it
turned out to be an absolute trove of treasures. Sure enough there was a heap
of junk too. She was loathe to toss some of the things, just in case she might
need them in the future. Clothing was an easy one… nothing fitted her anyway.
Kitchen utensils as they were, were very welcome. Some things needed a serious
clean, and others simply couldn’t be saved. After another hour or so she had a
pile of about two meters high standing watch at the back door. The junk was
made up of mostly clothes and old stiff boots and shoes, some books which she
couldn’t read even if she wanted to and of course mice nests and all that went
with them. So she opened up and started
to get it into the garden. She would set a match to it tonight. Red faced and breathing hard she congratulated
herself on a good days’ work even though it was only midday. She was bushed. So
she went inside and made herself a lunch of warmed up veggie soup from last
night and the remainder of the Bulgarian cheese pie. Which, she noticed was
beginning to have a stale flavour to it.
“Beggars can’t be etc. etc.”
she said aloud as she finished her meal.
***
Cathy was rather shocked at
the conditions here. Not least of all the weather. She had opted for this time
of year because it would be cooler than the summer. She didn’t like summer. She
was too big these days to be comfortable in any kind of heat. So Early Spring
would be fine. Or so she had thought. It would seem no one had informed the
weather guys that it was supposed to be spring. Winter was dragging her heels
and staying put as long as she could. This was not what Cathy had in mind at
all. Frankly nothing she was going through at the moment had been planned.
Many things in her life were
at loose ends. She hadn’t been herself in a good six years.
“Was it already six years?
Where had the time gone?”
But she knew where those six
years had gone. She knew that she had squandered them on self-pity. Spent them
sleeping and crying and eating. Used up
all her energy on her churning unhappy thoughts, ignoring her family.
Convincing herself that they didn’t need her. That they were better off without
her. And she was right, wasn’t she?
So here she was, in a foreign
land, no not just a foreign land, but a bloody strange one at that. A land
where the natives nod their heads vigorously up and down to emphatically say
‘No’ and sway their chins from side to side appreciating and agreeing. The
language is a whole lot of guttural noises that when strung together, only they
understand, and they have taken first prize for messing up the written alphabet
as we know it. Bulgaria, who in their right mind elects Bulgaria as a
destination of choice? Cathy was quite stunned at how easy it all was. She had
wanted to get away. Runaway, anywhere. She just did not want to stay where she
was, only she didn’t fully realise that wherever she went she would take
herself and her thoughts with her. Running away from people was one thing, but
she couldn’t run away from who she was. She was unable to function back in
South Africa anymore. Her heart was broken and nobody seemed to understand
that. The flight to this cold country was the cheapest flight available, even
for the South African Rand. Two months ago, the only reference she had for
Bulgaria was yoghurt. Communism was pretty much a foreign concept, Eastern
Europe was never really on her map before now. Europe in any of her forms was
mostly not considered for the simple reason it was understood to be extremely
expensive to live there. But after reading about a Children’s home that was
being blamed for abusing handicapped children, Cathy got the idea that somehow
she could help. Exactly what she planned to help with was vague to be sure. But
anything would have been better than what she was doing or not doing as was the
case back in Johannesburg.so… here she was. And it was cold, so, so cold. Cathy
had no experience with European winters having grown up in South Africa. Where
the winters are mild and on the Highveld dry. Summer storms brought the rains
at four o’clock each afternoon. But this cold, this wet cold that crept into
ones bones and paralysed her was completely new.
It was not only that the house
had gaps and wind tunnels running through it, it was cold everywhere. Cathy, as
she stood out in what one might pass as a garden waved shyly as a neighbour
passed by the gate. A short woman
wearing tweed looking trousers, probably four jerseys a scarf and rubber boots
came towards her carrying a little basket. She was talking. Cathy couldn’t be
sure who she was talking to as she didn’t see anyone else around, but she was
heading straight for Cathy. Wrinkled sun browned skin, laughing eyes and a
smile that displayed lots of teeth. Talking. Smiling and gesticulating as she
made her way through the front gate right in front of Cathy.
Going by the tone, she was
asking something. Cathy had no idea what to do or say, so she said
“Da”.
Hoping that it was the right
answer to the mystery questions. The older woman paused for but a millisecond
before realising there was no communication here. And promptly started again,
gesturing madly to herself, then down the road to another house with a smoking
chimney. Back to herself again and saying what sounded like Ivanya. So Cathy
patted her ample chest and said
Cathy. This seemed to be the right thing to do
because with a flourish and a laugh, she handed over the basket. Simultaneously
trying to grab Cathy’s hands and squeeze them.
She launched off again in her
guttural dialect, smiling and shaking her head. This confused Cathy, it looked
as if Ivanya was happy and smiling while shaking her head ‘no’. Cathy just
stood and grinned stupidly. Feeling like a retarded child, using pidgin sign
language, smiling just as enthusiastically as Ivanya, Cathy managed to get
communicate that no she was not British, but South African. That she spoke
English and no Bulgarian, and that she was alone. Ivanya graciously pretended
she understood exactly what Cathy had told, waved again and was off over the
cobbles.
Cathy closed the listing gate,
another challenge for later, and holding the basket with both hands went
indoors.
As she unwrapped the contents
of the basket, she wept. Inside, wrapped in thin serviettes, were little
pastries. In a personal sized casserole, there was a hot stew of some sort
which smelt amazing. Nestled against the side of the basket was a bottle of
clear liquid. Cathy opened the bottle and sniffed. Well it nearly blew the back
of her head off! Whatever it was, it was very potent. Alcohol of some kind, but
as Cathy was a social drinker and a sparse one at that, she had no idea what
was in the bottle. Gingerly she brought the bottle to her lips and minutely
sipped.
Her breath got caught in her
throat and the air swooshed hotly into her lungs as she tried not to cough and
splutter. Instantly, whatever the stuff was, made her warm on the inside. It
didn’t taste very good at all, in fact it was bad, but the fact that it warmed
her made her glad to have it.
