Mum comes home twice a week by Toni Castillo Girona (classic book list txt) 📖

"No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality."

Shirley Jackson, The Haunting Of Hill House

1

“Mum comes home twice a week”, said the girl, looking out the window, where a frozen little orchard could be seen, “and, when she does, she expects from me to be 'ere

.” She was elegantly seated on a wooden stool, her back turned on him. Beside her, a huge hearth was spreading warmth all across the drawing room, darkened enough because of the dusk. He stood on his feet, staring at her silently, trying to make out those uttered words, mystified. “Thus, I have to be 'ere

twice a week, accordingly. You see?”, added the girl, turning her head delicately in order to look deeply inside his eyes.

Oh, sweet creature! He nodded, smiling. That part of the house was odd, but somehow cosy. It was a small room, and being so he wondered for such a long time about what sort of suitors had been waiting as he had, or even what amount of them had been keeping that same chat concerning her mother visits whilst looking at those frozen dead trees, in that decrepit orchard where no fruits seemed to be produced any more. How many? One? Two? Oh, he thought, surely a huge quantity. She was a pretty dark horse, the kind of girl whom one could sickly fall in love with; the one having all the enigmas and the minimal oddities so as to become, let's say, almost perfect and seldom found. Quite so, he wanted to be engaged to her.

She smiled back at him. Her eyes glowed of pure intensity. “Then, if you want to date me during those visits, you have to come over before or after my mum comes, obviously.”, she got up and walked to and fro, trying not to touch him, “Oh, I guess mum's not going to care about that.” Outside, it started to snow slightly. The frozen orchard was whitened, so it was not noticeable if it had not been for the footpath leading to the front door, covered with pebbles, almost as if it was a shingle beach, was getting as white as the orchard. “I love the snow.”, said she. “Why's that?”, it was his first question after entering the house. “Oh, it is depressing. It makes me think about long journeys ending in lovers meeting.”. He stared at her and said: “Quite so, indeed.”

So, the night fell down and he could see the orchard no more. She moved quickly to the other side of the drawing room, where a small pile of logs waited, patiently, to be chosen. She picked two or three up, and hurled them to the hearth. A few sparks announced the fire was not going to cease. “There, “, she said smoothly, “ I think it is warm enough in 'ere. Mum is going to be comfortable when she arrives.” She waited in front of the hearth, her face illuminated by the dim light of the drawing room, concealing her hands inside her dressing gown pockets. “I love the fire, as well, “, she muttered. He reached her and put his right hand over her left shoulder, standing his ground behind her. He felt the pleasant smoothness of her delicate dressing gown's material. She did not move at all, so he dared to say: “I'm going to wait for your mother, if you want.” To that, she moved away, provoking his right hand to float in the air, as if missing something which had never been there before. “I don't think it's a good idea, my dear.”, she noted, “Mum is terribly shy, and she does not want strangers in her house.” He pondered for the best part of a minute. Eventually, he said: “I can understand that, of course. But surely I am not a stranger, or am I?”. She came to him, again, and caressed his face with her fingertips: “Yes, you are

, indeed.”, she approached him a little more, her perfume drowsing his senses, “My beloved sweet stranger.” He closed his eyes for a bit, trying to focus. That odour was penetrating his nostrils quite violently. “Sure, maybe you are my own stranger, ready to satisfy me whenever I am in need.”, she said, brutally, whilst looking at him intently. “Mum is jealous, as well.”, she added, evilly. He opened his eyes, pulling himself together in order to resist that fragrance weakening him completely, and came to say: “Is she jealous because of me?”. She laughed: “I guess not,”, she separated herself from him, turning around and went by the stool, where she was seated some minutes ago: “She loves me desperately”, she looked through the window, letting her gaze be mixed with the darkness outside: “I don't want you here when she gets home.”, then, sitting on the stool, she ended: “It wouldn't be safe.” He was startled, looking at her silhouetted figure seated on that stool, placed opposite the window, and said: “I'm not scared of your mother. I could not be.”

She smiled widely. The darkness outside was complete, and the silence was only altered by some logs crackling by the fire in the hearth. “Oh, you are not he first one talking nonsense, my dear.”, she said sadly. “All the same, I don't want you 'ere and that's all.”

He came closer, placing himself between the window and the stool. Then, looking down at her pretty and sad face, he tried to find out what sort of enigmatic dilemmas she had in mind, if so, and how to decipher them. “You know I love you, don't you?”, he inquired hastily. “Yes, indeed.”, was her quick response. “Then, why should I be afraid of your mother?” She looked up, a single tear rolling down her left cheek: “It's the way it has to be”, she answered. “I cannot understand that,”, he admitted, tiredly, “now, who's talking nonsense?”, he concluded.

It was late at night. The only way to go back to the city was by car, and certainly he was aware of driving frozen roads in the night. “I cannot go, not now.”, he said. “Indeed, it is dangerous.”, she admitted trying to peer through the window: “You cannot leave now, that's for sure.” Then, he grabbed her by her shoulders and, with a jerk, made her get up all of a sudden. Their eyes met for a second, and he could feel her entire body trembling. “I love you.”, he muttered. Behind her, a crack was heard, another log being consumed by the fire. “I love you,”, he repeated, looking at her intently, craving for a response. “I love you too.”, she finally said, and their lips became one for a quantum, and her body relaxed and the drawing room melt down, like ice, and all was fine. “Let me stay.”, he implored, eagerly, drawing his head back to gaze at her, “ I beg you.” She shocked her head hesitantly, and ascertained to say: “There's no way.” So, he put her away and went by the hearth, and observing the logs burning down to ashes, he asked: “Why don't you want me to stay by your side?”, somewhere, he heard a car's engine, so far away, “Why?”. She stood where she was, trembling again. She felt very sorry for him: “My mum.”, she responded, as if that was the real matter of it all, “I don't think it is a good idea, anyway.”. “Nonsense!”, he screamed. He turned around and looked at her; she barely saw him clearly because he was standing right in front of the fire, so to her he was merely a sombre. “As you said, I cannot leave now.”, he pointed out. “Yes, “, she admitted dryly, “ you have to stay. It is such a paradox, isn't it?”, she asked out of the blue, somehow amused. “Thus, you have to hide.”, she came to such a realization in no time. “Hide?”. “Yes, my dear,”, she continued,” you have to hide 'ere, maybe below my bed or inside some closet.” He burst into laughs. “You're mocking me”. She looked daggers at him: “I'm dead serious”, she said angrily. “You cannot stay freely whilst my mum is 'ere. It is not safe.” He stopped laughing. “You are

serious!”, she shrugged, “for God's sake. Who the hell is your mum?”. She smiled at him, and took his hands with hers and drove him by the window. “You don't want to know.”, she answered, dryly. “She is all I have, and I am all she has, as well. It is fair to say we have each other, you see.”, he was astonished. “Let me put you in some place where she cannot find you.”. “What if she does?”, he asked nervously. She did not answer. “I'm getting scared, I think”, he said almost in a whisper. “Hush!, “, said she, “ you are going to be okay, trust me.” So, she took him from one room to another: from the dinning room to the bathroom; from the bathroom to the bedroom, from there to a lot of huge and creepy closets; from those not quite comfortable closets to some sort of weird and unnamed rooms full of odd and unknown stuff, and not having find the best and safest place to stay, and knowing her mother was going to be there in no time, she eventually came to a bright idea: “Wait!, “, she shouted suddenly, giving him the chills, “you can go spend the night inside your car!”. He nodded, “that's pretty much what I ascertain as a good idea.”, he admitted. “And besides, my mum could see the car during the morning. So, you'll be better going as soon as the sun is shining.”, he added cleverly. He nodded again: “I know.”

Thus, he got out of the house and hurried to the car. It was freezing out there, and he trudged in order to get to the car without falling down on that slippery ground. He passed across that frozen orchard, looking at the dead trees and the dead frozen soil. From there, he could see her silhouetted through the drawing room window, the only warm place in all that huge household. He got in the car and, closing the door, adjusted the car windows accordingly, impeding the slightest cold air from getting in. “What now?”, he thought, still looking in her direction, “she is staring at me.”, he was sure of it. “And she loves me, she has to.”, he said to himself, feeling sleepy and, indeed, falling asleep in some moment during that agitated creepy cold winter night. Whilst he was dozing, she went to the dining room and waited there for two hours. At three o'clock, the front door's latch moved slightly.

“Mum, is that you?”

2

“Honestly, I don't know what to think.”, he said. The cold of the last winter night was over and, despite the fact the weather was as hard as ever, he could appreciate the smoothness of some sun rays caressing his skin. One of those best friends of his was looking at him through an intense cloud made of cigar smoke. Surrounding them, a pleasant collection of tall and ancient trees, now dead because of the winter, but still looking pleasant; a pack of benches here and there, some of them empty and some others full of seated people immersed in some sort of gay chats; “No,”, he thought, “this is a bright day in spite of the cold and the winter, so that

did not take place.”. That friend of his looked worried, and determined to last his cigar for