lie down under a bird-cherry and all the petals would fall at the same time, but you had to watch out for aphids. They held onto the tree if left alone, but if you shook the branches the least little bit they fell right off.
After the bird-cherry, there are pine trees and moss, and the hill rises up from the beach, and every time the cave is just as much of a surprise. It is so sudden. The cave is narrow and smells of rot, the walls are black and damp, and at the far end there is a natural altar covered with green moss as fine and dense as plush.
“I know something you don’t know,” Sophia said. Grandmother put down her murder mystery and waited.
“Do you know what it is?” asked Sophia sternly.
“No,” Grandmother said.
They rowed over to the island in the dory and tied up to a rock. Then they crept around the rosebush. It was a good day for the secret path, because Grandmother was feeling dizzy and would really rather crawl than walk.
“These are nettles,” she said.
“I told you that,” Sophia said. “Crawl faster, it’s only a little way.” They came to the spiraea and the loosestrife and the bird-cherry, and then Sophia turned around and said, “Now you can rest a while and smoke a cigarette.” But Grandmother had left her matches at home. They lay down under the bird-cherry and thought, and Sophia asked what went on an altar.
“Something elegant and unusual,” Grandmother said.
“Like what?”
“Oh, all sorts of things …”
“Say really!”
“I don’t know right now,” Grandmother said. She wasn’t feeling well.
“Maybe a pile of gold,” Sophia suggested. “Though that’s not specially unusual.”
They crawled on through the pines, and Grandmother threw up in the moss.
“It could happen to anyone,” the child said. “Did you take your Lupatro ?”
Her grandmother stretched out on the ground and didn’t answer.
After a while Sophia whispered, “I think I can spare some time for you today.”
It was nice and cool under the pine trees and they weren’t in any hurry, so they slept for a while. When they woke up they crawled on to the cave, but Grandmother was too big to get in. “You’ll have to tell me what it’s like,” she said.
“It’s all green,” Sophia said. “And it smells like rot and it’s very pretty, and right at the back it’s holy because that’s where God lives, in a little box maybe.”
“Is that so?” said Grandmother and stuck her head in as far as it would go. “And what are those?”
“Some old toadstools,” Sophia said.
But Grandmother could see they were good mushrooms, and she took off her hat and sent her grandchild in to pick them, and they filled it up.
“Did you say He lived in a little box?” she said, and she took out the little sacred box, Lupatro , because it was empty now, and Sophia crawled back into the cave and put it on the altar.
They followed the path back around Rosa Rugosa and dug up one of her children to plant by the guest room steps. The roots came out easily for once, along with a lot of soil, and they packed the whole thing in a Gordon’s Gin crate that was sticking up out of the seaweed. A little farther on, they found an old Russian cap for the mushrooms, so Grandmother could have her hat back.
“Just look how everything works out,” Sophia said. “Is there anything else we need? Just say whatever you want!”
Grandmother said she was thirsty.
“Good,” Sophia said. “You wait right here.” She walked down the beach until she found a bottle in the sand, under water. It didn’t have any label. They opened it and it fizzed. But it wasn’t Vichy water, it was lemonade, which Grandmother much preferred.
“There, you see?” Sophia cried. “Everything works out! Now I’m going to find you a new watering can.”
But Grandmother said she liked the old one fine. Moreover, she had a feeling that they shouldn’t press their luck. They rowed home stern first. That sort of rowing is peaceful
After the bird-cherry, there are pine trees and moss, and the hill rises up from the beach, and every time the cave is just as much of a surprise. It is so sudden. The cave is narrow and smells of rot, the walls are black and damp, and at the far end there is a natural altar covered with green moss as fine and dense as plush.
“I know something you don’t know,” Sophia said. Grandmother put down her murder mystery and waited.
“Do you know what it is?” asked Sophia sternly.
“No,” Grandmother said.
They rowed over to the island in the dory and tied up to a rock. Then they crept around the rosebush. It was a good day for the secret path, because Grandmother was feeling dizzy and would really rather crawl than walk.
“These are nettles,” she said.
“I told you that,” Sophia said. “Crawl faster, it’s only a little way.” They came to the spiraea and the loosestrife and the bird-cherry, and then Sophia turned around and said, “Now you can rest a while and smoke a cigarette.” But Grandmother had left her matches at home. They lay down under the bird-cherry and thought, and Sophia asked what went on an altar.
“Something elegant and unusual,” Grandmother said.
“Like what?”
“Oh, all sorts of things …”
“Say really!”
“I don’t know right now,” Grandmother said. She wasn’t feeling well.
“Maybe a pile of gold,” Sophia suggested. “Though that’s not specially unusual.”
They crawled on through the pines, and Grandmother threw up in the moss.
“It could happen to anyone,” the child said. “Did you take your Lupatro ?”
Her grandmother stretched out on the ground and didn’t answer.
After a while Sophia whispered, “I think I can spare some time for you today.”
It was nice and cool under the pine trees and they weren’t in any hurry, so they slept for a while. When they woke up they crawled on to the cave, but Grandmother was too big to get in. “You’ll have to tell me what it’s like,” she said.
“It’s all green,” Sophia said. “And it smells like rot and it’s very pretty, and right at the back it’s holy because that’s where God lives, in a little box maybe.”
“Is that so?” said Grandmother and stuck her head in as far as it would go. “And what are those?”
“Some old toadstools,” Sophia said.
But Grandmother could see they were good mushrooms, and she took off her hat and sent her grandchild in to pick them, and they filled it up.
“Did you say He lived in a little box?” she said, and she took out the little sacred box, Lupatro , because it was empty now, and Sophia crawled back into the cave and put it on the altar.
They followed the path back around Rosa Rugosa and dug up one of her children to plant by the guest room steps. The roots came out easily for once, along with a lot of soil, and they packed the whole thing in a Gordon’s Gin crate that was sticking up out of the seaweed. A little farther on, they found an old Russian cap for the mushrooms, so Grandmother could have her hat back.
“Just look how everything works out,” Sophia said. “Is there anything else we need? Just say whatever you want!”
Grandmother said she was thirsty.
“Good,” Sophia said. “You wait right here.” She walked down the beach until she found a bottle in the sand, under water. It didn’t have any label. They opened it and it fizzed. But it wasn’t Vichy water, it was lemonade, which Grandmother much preferred.
“There, you see?” Sophia cried. “Everything works out! Now I’m going to find you a new watering can.”
But Grandmother said she liked the old one fine. Moreover, she had a feeling that they shouldn’t press their luck. They rowed home stern first. That sort of rowing is peaceful
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