Jeff, Dear
by Irena
Pasvinter
“Jeff,
dear.”
“Hi, Mom.
How are you?’
“There’s
somebody hiding on my porch.”
“Who?”
“I wish I
knew.”
“Are you
sure?”
“I heard
him. I saw a shadow. He’s there.”
“Don’t
panic, Mom. I’ll call the police.”
“No. What
if he’s gone before the police arrive?”
“So what?”
“You don’t
understand. My neighbor, Monica, she’d laugh
her guts out, the old witch. Yesterday, when I
was cutting my roses, she popped out and said,
‘Hi Debbie! Have you read this article
on gardening against dementia in today’s
paper?’ No, I’m not giving the nasty
old gossip the pleasure.”
“Well,
Mom, if you prefer a burglar hiding on your porch...”
“Who said
it was a burglar? It could be a homeless man or
even a homeless dog.”
“Yeah, a
homeless burglar. So what do you want me to do if
I can’t call the police?”
“Jeff,
dear, could you please come over and check it out?”
“What? It
will take me at least half an hour to get there.
Are you worried about Monica more than about this
guy on your porch? I don’t wanna frighten
you, Mom, but he could break in any moment.”
“I have a
hunch that he isn’t that violent. A sixth
sense. You know--my sixth sense has never been
wrong.”
“This
could be its first time.”
“Hurry up
then.”
“Mom, I
think there’s something really fishy about
this.”
“Fishy?
What do you mean?”
“You know
very well what I mean. How come you aren’t
afraid of me facing this unknown creature on your
porch--you, who’s always obsessed with my
safety?”
“Nonsense,
I’m not obsessed with anything. And you are
a big boy now. Please hurry, I’m waiting.”
“All
right. See you soon. You and your homeless
burglar.”
***
“Hi, Mom!
So, where’s he?”
“So
wonderful to see you, Jeff. Is he gone?”
“There’s
nobody on the porch or anywhere else, unless he
broke into Monica’s place.”
“Oh, I’m
so relieved. Thank you so much, dear. Let’s
celebrate then!”
“First
promise me to call the police straight away next
time.”
“I
promise. Come into the kitchen, I bet you’re
hungry. ”
“Yeah.”
“We’ve
got chicken soup for the first course, salmon
steak and green salad for the main course and
blueberry pie for the dessert.”
“Blueberry
pie, my favourite.”
“Yes!
This morning I suddenly felt the urge to bake a
blueberry pie, like good old times.”
“Yeah,
like good old times. Mom, you think I’m an
idiot?”
“What?”
“You
conjured up this burglar out of thin air to feed
me your three course dinner.”
“Absolutely
not!”
“Right,
it’s just a coincidence you’ve got this
three course meal ready and waiting.”
“If you
really want to know, I didn’t conjure the
burglar to feed you--I conjured him to see you.
Last time you came was a month ago when I had
this plumbing problem. You live just half an hour
drive from me, but you come only if there’s
some dreadful emergency. So please shut up and
eat the soup while it’s still hot.”
“You know
I’ve never been crazy about the chicken soup.”
“Yes, but
you always ate it to get the blueberry pie for
dessert.”
|
