RUTE ROSAS. PORTO, 2000

Once upon a time there was a little girl who used to play in the shed her grandma kept her behind the house.  After classes in the morning, she spent most of her time making up stories, characters, sceneries with the help of her dolls and toys as well as with all the little bugs living among the arum lilies, fuchisias and rose-bushes in the little garden separating the two spaces.

Grandma Linda, as everyone in the family used to call her, was a strong woman resistant to suffering and devoted to her first-born granddaughter. The perfect housewife. I remember that every Monday and Friday were scheduled meticulously as cleaning days.
When I got home from school, not far from the house, Tucha would be waiting for me at the open door, as grandma Linda already knew from miaow that I was near. Lunch and my place at the table awaited my arrival, just like that kiss. During the meal my grandpa used to complain about business to my understanding grandmother always devoted and supportive trying to ease up the problems. Afterwards he used to rush out while grandma would brush his coat on his way out. Then there were only the two of us and Tucha. It was then my turn to tell about what had happened in school, and grandma’s to report about her morning tasks, having the radio show Parodiantes de Lisboa as a background sound, making us laugh. Next I would do my homework as fast as I could so as to play till the afternoon snack.
Hum! The most delicious delicacies were prepared according to the time of the year and at my request: custard, sweet vermicelli, orange pie with jelly, pumpkin jam which we used to have with cookies, home-made butter we used to taste with toasts…

In the beginning the dolls’ little clothes were made by you. Grandma, with the cloth left from your own dresses. Sitting on your lap while you were at that old black and golden sewing machine you would help me in that to-and-fro pedalling which seemed unattainable at the time. It was terrible at night when it was time to go back home.
I wanted to stay with you but I also wanted my parents who sometimes would be generous enough to let me stay, especially on Fridays, for grandpa would always be late and there was no school the next day. In Winter evenings you would bathe me and ask me if I would look after you the day I grew up and you became a child again. I would say yes, but I admit the idea was rather disturbing. God! I would never thought that could happen.
We used to knit and watch TV, then while in bed we shared the electric hot water bottle for the feet, wrapped up with tons of woollen material to avoid burning our sheets and skin. Our bodies would fit and I would fall asleep that way as you would tell me old stories from the time when animals and plants talked. Yours was a hard life, but you were sensible enough to sweeten it with the tenderness of your voice.
At about the same time every month, we used to go to Praça da Liberdade to pay for the house rent and as we walked by that school I used to tell that I would attend it some day. The idea didn’t really pleased you but later you came to terms with the fact that was what I really wanted.

Whenever we went out, you took my hand so firmly that if I close my eyes now I can still feel the pressure and the warmth. You did that not because you were afraid I’d run away – which was likely – (“take me, I want to be free!”, I would say this every time I saw a dog and felt like jumping onto his back), but because you wanted to protect your treasure. I had a hard time when I first went to the nursery school though I felt it was important to be with other children. We spent many holidays together. I really enjoyed being with you. You were the most beautiful granny who listened to me and helped me with the homework and joined me at play time, that either kissed me or tapped me when I deserved. You took an active part putting on my “shows” for my parents to watch when they got home from work. I’d sing and dance and tell stories till exhaustion. They meant a lot of work: from the change of scenery, costumes, make-up to musical arrangements.

For years you took me to the ballet classes on bus 6 and you’d wait for me in that room filled with pine trees resin fragrance. In the end, you’d dress me up and take me back home again on 6, only this time we had to bear the sickening smells, the squeezing and bumping. If we were lucky we’d gat a seat. I’d sit on your lap and we’d travel hand in hand all the way.