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An x in ink

Susie Gharib

    The law of heredity was strong in her case. Laura Spendlittles had a mother who kept every child’s treat under lock: pistachios, sugared almonds, chocolate, and various types of delicious sweets, which she all received as gifts. Her grandchildren waited for some acts of generosity after performing her endless errands, but the rewards she gave were already stale and past their consumption date. They knew their grandmother was miserly, but they loved to receive any offering from her huge wardrobe that was enshrouded in mystery.
    In this part of the world, a daughter takes after her mother, so the saying persists, and Laura did, but she was not parsimonious with material things. Instead, she distilled her affection into a little jar and kept it locked out of her daughters’ reach. What she demonstrated did not even attain the status of a single kiss. Her husband, who was brought up by a ruthless father, doted on his daughters to compensate them for such emotional impoverishment until his early decease.
    Vivien, the eldest daughter, ran off with an old man who needed a nurse rather than a wife. She reigned over a very large house without any children and sought affection from her twelve dogs. She spent her time supervising her husband’s nurse and the welfare of her canine friends. She rarely visited her mother who hardly missed her daughter’s presence.
    Christy got involved in charity work and thought of herself as a woman with a mission. She ended up in some strange spot on the intricate map of the African continent, which the mother found hard to pinpoint to visitors who constantly inquired after her absent daughter. Letters grew sparse and then the communication stopped.
    Agnes, the youngest, sought neither matrimony nor a mission to save the human species. She preferred to stay at home and observe the egocentricity of her mother, writing a chronicle of her traits and deeds. Laura assumed that her daughter was composing stories and the idea of becoming an author’s mother flattered her egomania, so she left Agnes to her own desk and creative impulse.
    The unexpected pregnancy of Vivien sent Agnes to her sister’s bed and Laura, who was very upset at the news, cancelled her social activities for the day and sat to brood on the sad prospects of having a grandchild. The sight of Agnes’s pen that was left in a hurry on the table opposite sent Laura to the unvisited desk, but Agnes’s drawer was locked. In a sudden craze to find out what her daughter had been composing for years, she started a thorough search for the key that was bound to be hidden somewhere in the inviolate room.
    When she found the key behind a picture dangling from a nail, her face glowed with anticipation and the whole evening was spent in reading her daughters’ literary accounts. Every mean deed was recorded in details. Laura felt as if she were looking in a mirror that revealed her inner self. She sat reading about her cold indifference when Agnes sat sick in bed, her demeaning remarks about her best friends, and sagas of unparalleled selfishness. The more she read, the more she felt enamored with herself.
    She packed Agnes’s clothes in a trunk and placed her compositions on top with a note that permanently banished Agnes from her sight:
    Dear Agnes,
    You have a literary gift, so I suggest you spend the remainder of your life at your sister’s house where your imagination can romp with her expected child.
    Laura x
    That was the first kiss that Agnes received, and it happened to be an x in ink.

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