Bored Maude - Housekeeper of Jewels

 

Maude was usually bored, except when callers came knocking, her only company a small terrier called Kipper, she told us, opening the door quickly in the pitch darkness to let us in.  She had diamonds for eyes, glowing as she made us welcome, and her hands were aged, knotted like veins of ore in the earth.  And she wore jewels, opals and things as rings, on every finger.  Orlando listened carefully to all she said, while I sat in the darkness near the only candle, giddy.  It was hard with no light, and Maude seemed to make more light, as the facets of her jewels glinted with the stories she told Orlando with her hands.  Closeby on her table the only other thing visible in the gloom was a basket of rich red pomegranates, cut through to reveal black seeds.  There was still the same moaning from outside that hadn’t ceased, like a chattering voice that didn’t know when to pause for breath.  It was the voice of fear and unreason, superstition.  Passing me the basket, Orlando and Maude insisted I eat the pomegranates, so I did, with very little trouble. 

This house didn’t need curtains to keep out the light of the moon at night, because there was none, it was so dark, the only things that could be seen were the single flame and jewels from Maude’s wizened hands.  I imagined, finally, that this was what it was like in a mine, under the ground.  If I were to lean forward and puff out the candle, well, it would be darker still.  Thus the flame was important, more important in the dark to keep it alight.  They were still chattering about the mine, how to approach it, what to do, so I leaned forward and drew out my almanac, and looked at the markings for the following day in the dim light. 

Maude told of a star we should follow, gave us a compass and bearings.  She said the Olympic Mountains, where the mine was, were riddled with caves like honeycomb.  We would have mules to take our supplies, and would be again on foot.  The almanac showed conditions would be fair.  I longed for the light of day.  The dark limited the imagination, or heightened it.  What the eyes couldn’t see, the mind would imagine.

“You have to get through here to get to there,” said Maude, tossing a scrap of bone to Kipper, who went straight to it in the stifling darkness.  “It’s all in the instincts…my precious ones.” 

(copyright Imogen Crest 2006.)