The Orchard by Catherine Temma Davidson

Author:Catherine Temma Davidson [Davidson, Catherine Temma]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gemma Open Door
Published: 2018-03-07T16:43:14+00:00

Chapter 10

Insomnia

Friday Night

While everyone slept, Lisa lay in bed and made another phone call. The weak cell signal was better at this late hour, but she hung up without leaving a message when it went to voicemail. How could Anya not call her back? How long would her daughter punish her? Was Anya really going to make Lisa face the jam-making on her own?

Her aunt Susan was right. It was hot in the house. The walls felt like tinder.

Lisa pushed the thin sheet off her body. She sat up in the dark and wrapped her arms around her legs. She thought about getting a glass of water, but she did not move. Ever since she’d come upon her grandmother one night in the kitchen when she was ten, she did not like to cross the dark house.

One June night many years ago, Lisa had been visiting the orchard with her family. That morning they had made the jam. At midnight, everyone was asleep except Lisa.

It was hot and she wanted water. She walked through the dark house. The kitchen light was on. There, she found her grandmother, also awake. She was sitting on a stool for once. On the counter next to her was a jar of jam, open. In her hand, she held a spoon. Tears poured down her cheeks.

Lisa crept closer. She put her arms around her grandmother’s waist. Her grandmother pulled Lisa’s head against her body. She stroked Lisa’s hair. For a time, all Lisa heard was the sound of Anna’s breathing as she calmed herself.

Then she pulled Lisa onto a stool. She offered her a bowl of yogurt and jam. They ate quietly together, Anna spooning jam right out of the jar.

Maybe it was the way the quiet of the night put them on an island, alone together. Maybe it was the taste of the jam that unlocked Anna’s tongue. For whatever reason, she told her secret to Lisa. She told her why she made the jam. Even though she never spoke about it again, Lisa remembered the story all her life.

“In my village, we all lived together. Greeks, Armenians, Jews. That’s what it was like under the Ottomans. We were all under the same thumb.

“Then somebody got the idea: Turks for the Turks. Greeks for the Greeks. Everybody out. We heard about it, but it was like a distant, crazy fight that had nothing to do with us.

“My best friend was a little Armenian girl. We did everything together. Her mother was the one who taught me how to put the jam in the sun. We used to help her. Every house had its own trees. In the spring they gave us flowers. In the summer, fruit. You only had to reach up, and there were apricots like honey. So sweet.”

Anna sucked the fruit off the spoon. She closed her eyes. Then, slowly, carefully, she put the spoon down and dropped her head, holding it in her palms like it was going to drop. She looked up.

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