Ersatz
The doorbell rang just when I fetched the spaghetti from the microwave. The ceramic handle of the deep dish burned the memory of its heat into my palms. I held on tightly, racing clumsily to the stone countertop, where I dropped it with relish. I blew at and licked my fingers, sympathetic to their distress, having put them in this situation in the first place. The bell rang again, insistent this time. I jolted from the relaxed posture I’d assumed and hurried to the door with “I’m coming!” shouted at the top of my lungs. I was confident of who it was.
“Mum, we thought you were not home.” the miniature replica of my husband deadpanned just when the door opened, and then he proceeded to hug my thighs on the verandah. I smiled down at him and ruffled his afro, making a mental note to remind his father to take him to the barbershop.
“Good afternoon, Mrs Andino.” his companion greeted politely, his arms wrapped behind him. I smiled and affectionately patted his head with its week’s worth of cropped hair.
“Boys…,” I began as I retreated inside, training my focus on them, “Dad will be home soon. And I need your help.” They stepped into the house with a spring to their walk, like soldiers called to duty.
“What do you need us to do, ma’am,” Aharon asked dutifully.
“Good question. First, I’ll need Ehud to get Grandma from her room. I’ll fetch Grandpa from our neighbour’s while you set the dining table. Hopefully, Dad will be home by then. How’s that?” I concluded, my gaze moving from one boy to the other.
“Sounds great, Mum,” Ehud replied, nudging Aharon onto a game of tag.
I rolled my eyes and muttered, “Boys will be boys.”
I left the house, crossed the boundary marker and approached my neighbour’s house. The net frame fastened to the main entrance was closed while the door was ajar. I peered into it as I called out, but my father responded instead. Baba appeared from the side of the house, startling me.
“Sorry, my daughter,” he began.
“Oh, it’s fine, sir,” I interjected, swallowing little gobs of spit to lubricate my dry mouth.
“I went to the backyard to pick some herbs for dinner. Have you seen your father? He is inside,” he informed me.
“Not yet, sir. But he answered when I called.” I replied.
“So… An old cargo can make your heart race, eh?” my father jeered at me, leaving the house. We burst into bouts of laughter when he wiggled his waist for emphasis, closing the door.
“Daddy, dinner is ready,” I informed him when the excitement died down to a trickle, “And Baba, you are welcome to join us.” Turning to him for emphasis.
“What will we have tonight?” My father asked.
“Spaghetti with greens for you and Mum, while we’ll have pepper sauce with it.” The two men wriggled their noses and shook their heads.
“Thank you, my dear. But these old bones cannot stomach that Americana food.” Baba said.
“Okay, sir. Daddy…” pre-empting my father’s protest. “You are stuck with us because if I remember clearly, you finished the last batch of white soup we had.”
He scratched his head, shrugged and resignedly turned to his friend.
“Them catch me this time.” I chuckled and said my goodbyes to Baba.
We found my husband’s car parked at our makeshift garage. I checked on the garden to assure myself that he’d not squashed my vegetables again. He didn’t, and I was pleased.
“You could just tell him not to squash your vegetables.” My father commented as we climbed the stairs to the verandah.
“I have done that countless times. It gets tiring.”
“So policing him will solve it?”
“So far, so good.”
“You are just like your mother,” he said, shaking his head.
“When is your holiday going to be over?” I asked, struggling not to gag over my giggles.
“So now, you’re sending me out of your house?” he played along. “Mannerless children we have these days! What did I ever do to deserve this?”
I leaned into him as the chortle escaped my heavy frame. I watched a smile crack open on his wrinkled face as he subconsciously slid the bridge of his pair of glasses on his nose. Arm in arm, we walked across the short expanse into the house.
