Whispered Curses

~ Prologue ~ Eden ~

* Nana’s Whispers *

We’d always just called it The Knowing. It sounded quite mysterious. Well, it was. Nobody in my family was particularly superstitious. I mean, not walking under ladders isn’t to avoid bad luck, that’s a basic safety tip. And nobody wants to break a mirror – you’d be pulling bits of glass out of the carpet for years.

Yet there was something different when Nana made a proclamation. We would be in the middle of a regular conversation, gathered around the kitchen table. She’d be sipping some strange tea that she had mail-ordered directly from the factory. Apparently, Canadian teas didn’t understand true balance, or some complicated British fussiness.

Nana would stare into her teacup, swirling it gently. Her head would cock slightly forward, and to the left. Then she would stare up at the ceiling as the room got quiet. We knew that whatever she was about to say next would be important, and someone would grab the grocery list notepad from the fridge to jot it down.

When Mom was looking for a smaller house after Dad died five years ago, Nana had interrupted our discussion of the importance of a flower garden. Staring up at the ceiling, she had whispered, “Your neighborhood is your garden. Live well, and make it grow.”

Mom had been looking in the Junction, and the distant edges of Parkdale trying to find an affordable house. But with this new direction, she found the perfect little bungalow in Woodbine Gardens. It had been underpriced because the decor was so violently hideous. Two weeks of ripping out seventies wallpaper and painting everything in light, soft tones made the house absolutely perfect. The woodwork was still crazily outdated, but Mom liked it.

A few years later, my sister Eva was telling us all about some fancy arts event that her friend was throwing the next Saturday night. She was volunteering to work the door. She was rather excited that she got to dress up like a princess, and welcome people to the ballroom. It sounded adorably kitschy.

Then we all held our breath when we noticed Nana was staring into her teacup. When she glanced up at the ceiling, she whispered, “Rain is plain and snow will blow, but never drive in the freezing rain.”

Sure enough, when Eva was coming back from the party at two in the morning after helping to clean up the event, there was half an hour of freezing rain. Instead of waiting for it to pass, she jumped into a taxi.

The accident wasn’t too bad, relatively speaking, and she walked away with slight whiplash and a broken wrist. Still, had she heeded Nana’s whispers, and just waited half an hour, that wouldn’t have happened.

Although Nana had never said anything directly to me, I knew that it would be coming someday. Sometimes her warnings were a bit abstract, such as, “A little of this bologna. No, no no, that’s wrong.”

Two days later the news was filled with product recalls from a packaged sandwich meat company. Coincidence? We didn’t know. Even though we didn’t quite believe that she had some sort of gift, or second sight, we all silently agreed that it was better to just do as Nana said.

About six months ago, when I was reeling from a recent devastating breakup, I went to have tea with Nana. She lived in Vancouver now, but was visiting my mother in Toronto for a few weeks.

Nana shared the stories of her love life before she met grandpa. Stories of her lousy, screaming drunk of a first husband. Back in the fifties, women didn’t often pick up their baby and move away from their husband. Nana always had a mind of her own.

“How did you know he wasn’t going to come after you?” I had asked.

She rolled her eyes at me, sipping her tea. Then she shrugged. “He was always wildly drunk, and he drove a motorcycle. I knew it was just a matter of time.”

Sure enough, her first husband wrapped himself around a tree, and Nana met a dashing young military man a year later at a legion hall dance.

They had moved to Canada and started a wonderful new life together. Somehow, hearing the tale of her life again had grounded me. There was always hope. There was always a way to find love.

I was actually smiling to myself when I realized that Nana had grown quiet. She stared down at her tea, swirling it gently as her head fell to the side. Then she stared up at the ceiling.

I could barely make out her whisper, “Never get in bed with the devil. He lives for darkness and fire.”