‘Don’t be afraid,’ Ina said. ‘Sit down. Let’s have a conversation. I’ll say one thing, and you say the next.’
Grigor agreed and waited for Ina to speak.
‘Look at me,’ she said.
‘I’d rather not,’ Grigor said.
‘Are you disgusted by my beauty?’ Ina asked.
‘No,’ Grigor answered, befuddled. He saw no beauty in Ina, and to be disgusted by beauty was impossible. So he looked at her without really wanting to, to see the beauty she referred to, to test his own disgust, and he felt it, but said again, ‘No,’ despite the gagging sensation he felt in his mouth and throat at the look of her huge, wet, bulging eyes. The fishy smell of the dead eyes on the bedside table was covered quite well by the smoke of the candle, and he breathed deeply, and then regretted it, thinking that the air might have been laced with something evil.
‘Thank you,’ said Ina, as though she understood that Grigor had unlashed his disgust for her into a general disgust, which now dissipated through the room like the candle smoke. Grigor was magically calmed. ‘I’ve never had a husband, you know.’
‘Yes, I know.’
Grigor looked around the room, resting his eyes finally on a pipe made out of a hollowed bone. He was no expert, but he thought the bone was the same length as a man’s forearm, and he was afraid again.
‘Shall we smoke the canniba together?’ Ina asked. ‘So that we remember?’
‘Remember what?’
‘Whatever you like. Maybe I can help you bring certain memories to mind.’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’
‘I should be the only one to remember?’
‘Well no, I remember plenty,’ Grigor said, not entirely sure what he meant.
‘I bet you this gold ducat that I remember more terrible things than you do.’ She pulled the ducat from her armpit. Grigor thought it might be a trick of the light, the slick of her sweat reflecting off her finger. But then she flipped it to him and he caught it in his hand. It was real gold. ‘Shall we smoke and have a little game?’ she asked again.
Grigor didn’t argue. He put the ducat in his pocket and sat back down in the chair, which was surprisingly comfortable.
‘How old are you, Grigor?’ Ina asked, reaching for her bone pipe.
‘Sixty-four.’
‘Young enough to remember how long it’s been.’
‘I’m the oldest man in Lapvona,’ Grigor said.
‘I bet you remember being born,’ Ina said, breaking off a piece of the dried bud and sticking it into the bowl of her pipe. ‘Bring me the candle, please,’ she said.
Grigor did as she said. He struggled to remember being born, but couldn’t.
‘I guess we aren’t supposed to remember that,’ he said. ‘No babe wants to hear their ma screaming.’
‘I remember when you were born,’ Ina said. She took the candle from him and brought the flame to the pipe and sucked. She inhaled deeply, her eyelids unfolding over her eyes. ‘Your mother didn’t scream a bit,’ she said, letting the smoke lump out of her mouth with each word. ‘I was there. I was the first one to touch you, even. You don’t remember that?’
‘I didn’t know,’ Grigor said. He imagined it for a moment, thinking of a memory he couldn’t possibly have had: a vision of his young mother propped up on her elbows with her legs spread on the floor, wincing and blushing, her veil falling from her head, exerting great force as a baby plunked out from between her skirts. He saw a younger Ina pick the baby up and lick the blood from its face. ‘Here you are, it’s a boy,’ she told Grigor’s mother, who was going pale, her face sweaty in the sunlight through the window.
‘Your ma was a sweet woman,’ Ina said, interrupting his reverie. She took another drag from the pipe and paused. ‘Never made a peep. I sewed her up with a horsehair and she was rocking you on the bed by nightfall.’
‘I thought I was born in the morning,’ was all Grigor could summon. He felt angry at Ina for so casually telling him of something so private and pure. But his anger was childish, like the anger at the colors of a sunset for not being more pleasing.
‘Nah,’ Ina said. ‘You were born in the afternoon. Your pa was still in the fields. She came to me here,’ she patted the bed, ‘and brought her own rags and your big sister. She was pretty, your mother.’
‘I remember,’ Grigor said, suddenly emotional. He took the pipe from Ina. ‘I had no idea I was born here.’