Three Visitors' Night

Saph stood in the kitchen, hands on her hips, biting her lip. Candles flickered as the walk-in pantry next to the hearth whispered that it was almost empty. She inspected all the pine wood shelves, and in an old, tired-looking barrel at the back, she found one small sack of wild rice.

"Too little rice for a vegetable stew," she said aloud.

She thought she could bake a flat loaf with the rest of the flour in the pantry, or some kind of cake with the eggs, milk and the honey. Maybe she would, just to be safe. Use everything, spare nothing.

She found a chilli pepper and an apple behind one of the shelves. The apple she left, but the chilli pepper she chopped up and put in her vegetable stew. She boiled the rice over the fire, stirring it with a motion of her finger even when she was away at the kitchen table, putting out plates and cutlery.

Once the table had been set, and the food all cooked, she lit the lamps and the incense, had a bath in icy river beside her cottage and put on a silk dress she had made that week. She sighed, hoping and praying that this year would be perfect. She lit the Night Candle, and so began her Three Visitors' Night.

She sat at the kitchen table, and remembered her mother, who had first taught her about the custom. As a child the tale had frightened her, how three elder gods came to visit the town one night. The family who fed and housed them were granted long lives and bountiful harvests. However, those unfortunate people who turned them away in the middle of the night received death. She never pondered the truth, if any, to the story. She never wondered who those families may have been that could simply have been too scared to allow visitors into their homes in the darkness of night. It was something she did, because her mother did it, and her grandmother, and all the women in her family all the way back to the Great Flood. It was also because of what happened the year before.

Her neighbour Geron, who never lit candles or incense or perform ritual baths, had seen her preparing a seafood chowder that year and he walked in without knocking.

"Are you still doing that silly nonsense?" he smirked as he sat down at her table.

"Please don't speak like that, Geron. And take your shoes off in my house."

"It's all just a silly fairy tale that nobody believes in anymore!" began his rant. She couldn't remember exactly what else he said, but after he saw himself out, she kept the seafood chowder for herself. It's just an innocent blasphemy, she told herself.

That last Three Visitors' Night she was awoken by the thunder of broken wood and smashed windows. Geron survived, but his limbs had to be re-set and healed. Of course there were people who often took advantage on Three Visitors' Night, she knew, but such an attack she thought was not just the opportunism of bandits and thieves. She had been spared, but she took it as a warning for the coming year.

This year, she told herself, would be different. Saph did all that the custom expected of her. She watched through the window, as the moon rose, the shadows grew longer and the candles gave out their hallowed light.

After an hour, no-one had come. She had waited with patience, though her eyes felt drowsy and her feet felt sore. She did not like to go to bed and then wake up in the middle of the night to answer the door to visitors. One year, she had been ill, and though she still performed the custom, she snapped at her visitors, though she later regretted it when her illness carried on for another month. Still, she yawned, and almost fell asleep on the kitchen table before taking herself to her bedroom.

Saph awoke in darkness, but not because of a door knock. A loud crash had stirred her, followed by heavy footsteps. She lay under the blankets, her heart racing, a cold chill creeping up her spine as chaos undid her sense of safety. She listened to the footsteps coming from the kitchen. Cabinet doors opened and slammed shut. Pots and pans banged, fell onto the stone floor, clanging all over each other. By lamplight, she searched for something, something to use on an intruder. After a moment, the footsteps disappeared outside into the garden and silence fell once more. She tiptoed out of bed, looked in her bedside dresser, and found an old clothes iron which she held out in front like a sword.

The candles were still alight in the kitchen, but the table and chairs lay upside down with the plates and cutlery strewn on the floor. What was left in the pantry cupboard had been taken, the eggs, honey and flour, but the rice and vegetable stew she had left out had not been taken. The brass pots and pans hanging from the rack had gone. They took everything else but my offerings on Three Visitors’ Night. Considerate of them, she thought.

As she pondered the devastation in her kitchen, she turned up one of the chairs and sat down. She covered her face in her hands. She had just forgotten. It was an accident. She just felt so tired, she forgot to use the rest of the ingredients. Her dismay ended with a knock on the door. Panicked, she looked around at the mess, lifted the kitchen table and its chairs to their right positions, and put the plates and cutlery back on hurriedly. The door knocked again.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" she shouted. As she rushed to the door, she froze, then grabbed the clothes iron and hid it behind her back as she opened the door in inches.

"May we enter?"

A woman carrying a child stood on the patio. The woman rubbed her eyes whilst she held the child close to her chest. "We need food."

Saph looked at them both. Their eyes wore dark rings underneath, and both lacked shoes on their feet. "Well," she began.

"I'm expecting guests, you see."

"I'm sorry to disturb your holy night, but..." Her child began to stir.

Saph looked at her hour-candle, then back at the mother and child. "It's just that…"

The mother stared at her.

"Fine," Saph said after a moment. "Come in." She brought a bucket

out to them, filled with water and soap, handed the mother a cloth. The mother stroked her sleeping child’s hair. "Hazel, baby, you can wake up now. Come let me clean your hands and feet."

The child grumbled, yawned and then the mother stood her on Saph’s doorstep before washing her. When she had finished, Saph brought her a towel and she dried her before the child walked over the threshold of Saph’s home. The mother washed herself with clean water that Saph brought and then entered the home when she was dry. Saph handed them both silk slippers to put on.

"There's fruit in the bowl in the guest bedroom. But don't touch anything else."

"Thank you, my lady," the mother said.

"Saph."

"Saph, of course," she said as she took her child into the bedroom. Saph looked at the out-of-position table and chairs, made them neat and tidy. It was funny, she thought, how the intruder did not touch the hour-candle, though its glistening gold holder must have been an enticing item. As she checked the pots filled with food, the mother walked into the kitchen with the child, holding an apple.

"I thank you for your hospitality, Saph."

Saph stared at them both for a moment. "Where are you from, may I ask?"

"The West Peak."

"You walked all this way?"

"We're heading for Black Harbour, to catch the ship across the sea."

Saph sighed, thinking about how fortunate she was to stay whilst others had to leave. "I suppose you'll want to stay the night then?"

"No, we need to make the ship by sunrise."

"But you'll have been walking all day...did you walk all day?"

The mother shrugged. "We needed to leave. It was no longer safe."

Saph then forgot about Three Visitors' Night, the candles, the incense, all the rituals. "Here," she said, beckoning them to the kitchen table. "Please sit."

"Saph, we couldn't..."

"You must."

The mother and Hazel did so, and Saph brought out the rice and vegetable stew, dishing out the portions. "What about you?" the mother asked.

"It's not tradition for the host to eat with the guests."

They ate in silence whilst Saph watched them. They ate quickly. After they had finished, Saph made a pot of rose tea for them both.

"We should go," the mother said, standing up.

"Can't we stay the night?" Hazel whined.

"No, sweetheart. We have to be at the harbour by sunrise."

"You can stay if you want," Saph said.

"Please?" Hazel begged.

The mother thought for a moment. "Okay, we'll sleep for a few hours, but we must leave before the sun rises."

"I'm afraid I don't have much to give you for your trip," Saph began. "Except..." She rushed back to the pantry and looked behind the shelves. The apple was still there. She gave the apple to Hazel.

"What do you say?" the mother said.

"Thank you."

They went to the guest bedroom and closed the door behind them. Saph sat down at the table and ate what was left of the stew. It was a good stew, she thought, sweet with a little sourness, and hearty. When she went to bed, her eyes were asleep before she fell on the mattress.

The sun was at full blast when Saph awoke. She groaned, then remembered Hazel and her mother. Crying out, she ran into the kitchen. The plates had been cleaned, as had the pots which were used for the stew. The pantry door was closed, but when she opened it she saw it was full to the brim, bushels of grapes, tomatoes, full-grown squashes, peppers, three sacks of rice, and three bags of potatoes.

The front door knocked, and when she opened it she saw Geron with a basket full of eggs.

"I heard noises last night, did you have any visitors?"

"I guess I did in the end."

"Three?"

"Yes, three."

"So, you'll be doing this again next year?"

Saph looked at the full pantry. "I think I will."