As I transcribe my grandmother’s stories, I am getting to know who she was as a person. At the same time, her writing sheds light on her children’s personalities as well as my own. I hear my mother echoed in her humor and outlook on life. And sometimes I hear echoes of my own voice.
In addition to complete stories, I have fragments of writing that either I will find later on had been incorporated into full stories or were the beginnings of ideas that never were fleshed out. Yesterday I found a few versions of a story (or two?) about Helene and Vitali’s home life in Vienna, entitled variously “Water Come” and “Vitali — A domestic Study”:
Water Come/Vitali — a domestic study
Vitali has a genius for influencing people to do his will. His way of doing so is simple but effective, compelling rather than repelling. That his wishes are realized always he takes for granted, as if it would be the simplest thing in the world. He doesn’t give a damn for what people think or say about him.
Once, it was an awfully hot afternoon in August. The Viennese suffered through a heat wave. People who were forced to be on the street didn’t walk, they crept.
The children were on vacation, our household help had her day off, and we both were relaxing on a couch too lazy to move, even to talk. He interrupted our dulce far niente* by saying:
-Chérie, I am thirsty, I want a glass of water.
-I am thirsty too, but I am too lazy to get up.
-That is why I want you to bring me a glass of water.
-I think your way to the faucet is just the same as mine, why don’t you fetch it yourself?
-It is so agreeable to relax.
-I agree with you.
-I am glad you do, it does not happen very often.
(I become taciturn)
(Vitali after a while started: Water come, water come, water come, water come.
I: What means that?
V: I am playing Moses, only I have no stick with me.
I: Do you want to beat me?
V: No, Chérie, I would hit the wall only to get water. Continuing his sing song: Water come, water come, water come, water come, water come.
(I faked snoring; Vitali, lowering his voice but continuing his monologue)
Water come, water come, water come, water come.
(It drove me crazy; I got up and came back with a tray of several glasses of fresh water.)
Vitali gave me a big nice smile, saying:
Have you seen, piccola, how obedient water can be if you know how to deal with it and force your will on it?
I had the very desire to throw at least one glass of that “obedient” water into his face, but the way he was smiling victoriously was too irresistible; we both were laughing like two naughty children after they had done something funny.
*note: dulce far niente is Italian for “sweet idleness”; also a poem by Finnish poet Aaro Hellaakoski, published in 1928