The Visitation

Monday's was always a special day for me when I was a youngster because it was washing day. Granny would haul out the tin tubs, fill them with water and heat them on the stove 'til the water was hot enough to be poured into the newfangled washing machine she had acquired. My job that I had taken upon myself was to be her helper, fetching pails, filling the tubs, shaving the soap and just generally being on hand when she needed something. It was a fun day.

We had just filled the washer when I heard, "Rap, rap, rap," at the front door. There was Nanny, the ancient matriarch of my British family. When Nanny entered a room, all feeling was sucked out of it.

Granny took one glance at her stiff mother and in her best no nonsense tone said, "Maw, come in and take off your clothes, we're about the start the washing. You might as well join us--we'll make up a tub for you."

The gaunt silhouette acquiesced by coming to the kitchen and began to disrobe in our bedroom, where I had began to move the high-backed tin tub that was used for bathing.

Nanny put her long-sleeved, black, cotton dress with small-patterned pink, miniature roses she had been wearing on the bed. I went to fetch it to put in the washing machine. But much to my amazement, she had another dress on underneath. It was pale blue cotton with smocking at the top. Soon, it was joined by a yellow-plaid one, and followed by yet another that once upon a time was forest green. My eyes widen as the fifth dress was added to the pile--it was dark mauve! That was the last one … now she was down to an under garment which was a faded, ochre-coloured, muslin camisole and a matching half-slip. All I could think of after witnessing that spectacle was "Why don't you know you're supposed to take one dress off before you put another one on?”

Of course those were just thoughts. I just stood there and gawked at the 88 year-old bird, with skin that was streaked with pale blue veins, dotted with dark brown moles, and an overall colouration that was cloudy white. She began to take out the pins that were holding her yellowish-white bunted hair. It fell on her bony shoulders. It was only remarkable for its lack of sheen, volume and definitive colour. Lastly, she took off her stockings that had been held up with a garter belt that felt grimy to the touch. It was hard to look into her eyes, because light came into them but none radiated outwards. They were a cold grey-blue, lacking depth and any sign of friendliness. As Granny and I assisted her into the tub, my nose was assailed by a thunder of odours.

Now I was certain, the nearest creature I'd seen that she resembled, was a buzzard. The loose skin from her scrawny neck hung down in folds, her arms were bluish and her stark skeletal, white legs looked chickenish. She was wrinkled all over like very old translucent parchment paper. What really convinced me that she was a member of the bird of prey family, were her toenails. They were long, hard, slightly curving, yellow weapons -- a raptor would have been envious of them. There had been no Mother-daughter banter between Granny and Nanny, nor any sound from the silent Sphinx when her nails had been trimmed. I wasn't alone in wishing the clock could tick faster.

Granny took a flannel and washed her as I picked up the huge bundle of clothing and carried them to the washing machine and dumped them into the churning water where the agitator greedily sucked them up. It had been a long time since they had been laundered. As if I were an invisible servant, Nanny since she had arrived at the door hadn’t acknowledge my presence.

Next came an event, which was truly daunting. Granny began to cut her talons. The pieces shot around the room like shrapnel. People and pets needed to take cover--especially small children such as myself! I began to pray that our task would soon be over. Fetching Nanny's tea was also part of my job during the day, which didn’t rate an acknowledgement it had been delivered. I made her stout walking shoes fresh with oxblood shoe polish, then buffed them to a high shine. They had brought her to us in the morning and would now take her back in the later afternoon to whence she came.

I was ecstatic when we handed her the paper bag filled with her clean belongings that had hung in bright sunshine, perfumed by gentle warm breezes, then touched up with an iron and carefully folded. Nanny, as usual, hadn’t spoken a word to me. Blessedly, she isn’t due for another visitation ‘til she’s soiled what was put in the makeshift suitcase. As we waved goodbye, the light begin to return to Granny's eyes as she treated me to one of her rare winks along with a bright shiny nickel!