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The Golden Statues

Ahan Basu

     “Your grandpa was a virtuous man,” granny said.
    I nodded reluctantly, rubbing my sweaty palms against each other, not understanding why the issue was raised in the first instance. A December morning could never have been so uncomfortable. Our trip plan for the summer holiday was seeming bleak by then. It was becoming growingly difficult for me to understand the implications of most of her words.
    “She’s a bit ill,” mom had told me on the way there.
    “Her psychiatrist’s not that qualified”, I heaved.
    Grandpa was supposedly my favourite. I thoroughly enjoyed spending time with him. But he suddenly went missing one day. No trace could be found whatsoever. The police finally gave up, to us to mourn. I remember we all were inconsolable, excepting granny, who seemed rather to be in a shock. A few months later my dad. It has been years since then. It’s all coming back since I was in the place where this all happened.
    The county priest was called, who roamed around our house holding the cross with a skeptic face, judging everything and everyone he came across. Finally he stopped by granny and looked at her with frowning eyes.
    Mom had later explained this, “He isn’t especially fond of her.”
    “Why?”I had asked her.
    “For her alchemisms.” I had kept quiet.

***

    Her cupboard keys were the most precious to her. I never wanted to see what’s inside, because she would never show it. She never did to her husband! I had always wondered what’s in there. I was facing the cupboard that day. A brilliant piece of carpentry it was. Made of teakwood, it was undeniably an attention - grabber. None knew where the key was, though.

***

    “How did grandpa die? Mom says there’s a - “No!” Granny sprang out of her armchair. “He’s still there and will forever be and so will your dad be!”
    The tension in the room was palpable. She almost fell down into her chair, shivering uncomfortably. I ran up to her. “You’re alright? Should I phone the doctor?” She moved her head sideways. I tried calling mom but she was busy on another.
    “Thud!” The noise startled me along with a shattering sound. I turned back immediately. Grandma lay on the floor unconscious, and a few inches from her lay on the ground broken pieces of a beaker, with a turquoise liquid spilled all over. A few drops had touched her feet which presently was turning hard. I looked further up. Her “secret cupboard” was open and from there popped the busts of two men, one sexagenarian and another in his mid - thirties and I knew them.

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