Bittersweet

She closes the door quickly on her way in so only a little of the cold October air will make its way inside. The dull ache in her knees doesn’t surprise her, seeing as she had spent quite a while crouched in the chill of the garden. ‘Now it will all be worth it’, she thinks and makes her way to the stove with her treasures clutched in hand. The pot of water was already at a boil, so she takes it off the hot surface. One by one she adds the herbs into a muslin bag: fresh Lemon Balm leaves to help her fatigue; Lemongrass stalks for her digestive system; Sage leaves and dried Elderflower petals to ward off illness; and dried Chamomile buds to keep her calm. She ties the muslin bag neatly and places it in the pot to steep. Almost immediately an enchanting aroma surrounds her, carrying distinct lemony notes combined joined with flowery scent. It’s a perfume she knows by heart. There has hardly been a day in her life when she hasn’t taken the great pleasure of sipping this warm herbal concoction. Some days she changes the recipe slightly, according to her physical and emotional needs. But even in the sweltering heat of summer she wouldn’t forgo her warm herbal tea. It has been her steadfast companion, from early childhood and for many years since.

Her hands are still cold from the morning air, so she holds them near the pot while she waits. Her thoughts wander and her gaze falls upon the garden outside her kitchen window. It’s a dreary autumn day and the garden is still wet from an early morning shower. She loves the green of her herb patch and the dash of color from the flower bushes. The woods at the back of the house have yet to turn golden-yellow and it seems this might be a mild winter. Franciszek stares at her from the back of the garden, his grey headstone cleaned by the rain. Her heart still aches at his loss, even after having lived without him for over two years. Two long, lonely years. She misses his hearty laughter and warm embrace. He was not a perfect man, by no means so, but he was a good man – and he was hers. The horror of waking up next to his cold body still haunts her sleep from time to time, making her leap from her pillow. At least he had a painless death, in his sleep, like a saint. Next to his grave lies a neat pile of rocks, a monument to her son Andrej, wherever he may be. The last time she got to hold and kiss his cheeks - he was only sixteen, and already gone to war. That was four years ago. No word from him since. This damned endless war, the war to end all wars, sent its tenebrous tentacles even to remote villages such as theirs, snatching their young to the front, never to be seen again. She turns her gaze from the window, pulling away from the emotions and memories; she cannot get lost in them again. Luckily, her tea is ready. She adds a dollop of honey to the pot and stirs, then pours herself a cup. The rest she will reheat and enjoy throughout the day.

She sips the tea slowly by herself, sitting on the wooden armchair near the fireplace, draped in a green woolen shawl. Warmth slowly engulfs her and sooths her spirit. The herbal brew has a magical effect on her, it centers her. She takes the time to go through the tasks ahead of her today: tending to the hens and the cows, mending some curtains, checking on the dried beef in the larder, cleaning the shed. She should also head to market, but she knows she won’t do that – it’s a cold, grey day and she can still make do with what’s in the house. She is only one person, after all. The black and white photo on the wall grabs her attention. In it, the three of them are posed together, back when she had the same wonderful brown hair as Andrej. Now it’s all grey. The picture feels like a warm embrace. Her family, her loved ones, bound together in a frame for all eternity. She beams a smile at Franciszek’s kind brown eyes, the same eyes he passed to Andrej, who must have been around fifteen at the time. He came to them late in life, after many painful failures – and he brought warmth and color to their life. Even in that framed moment you can still see a joyous twinkle in his eyes. This is how she remembers him. After all, he didn’t change much between the time the picture was taken and when he left for war, still a boy on the cusp of manhood. A happy boy, full of life and endless energy; quick to laugh and make those around him smile – he could strike a conversation with just about anyone.

The two of them left her far too soon. It was less than a year after Franciszek’s demise, she remembers – because she was still in her blacks. One day there was an unexpected knock on the door – an officer with a somber face. ‘Madam Jankovic, I regret to inform you that a fortnight ago your son’s brigade was ambushed by an enemy force and was taken captive,’ the young officer said and her world once again came crashing on her. It was only a month or two before when she managed a smile despite the loss of her husband. How can misfortune come for a second visit when she has barely recovered from the first? For weeks she was inconsolable, wandering between hysteric tears to frenzied prayers. Neither the priest, nor her neighbors managed to break through to her. She was beyond empty words of encouragement. When Franciszek died, he was gone, not in pain or suffering; but with Andrej she had no idea if he was dead or alive, if he was hiding somewhere or being tortured to death. She tried her best not to lose hope, to remain strong for both their sakes; but come nighttime – she would cry herself to sleep. Then, a few weeks ago, her neighbor madam Sorokin knocked on her door at noon. ‘Ljuba, riders arrived at the village center bearing good news – the war is over, we defeated them!’ she said, full of joy. But Ljuba couldn’t share the nation’s joy; because at that moment she accepted the fact that the next time she will embrace her son – would be in the afterlife. Later that day she made him a monument next to his father’s headstone in the garden and laid to rest under the stones - her heartache, pain and anxiety. Yet still she thinks of the two of them often, with a heavy heart. A purring sound and a warm weight on her knees bring her back to the here and now. The orange tabby cat blinks at her slowly with its green eyes as it begins kneading her knees rhythmically. The woman smiles at the animal that had just woken up and strokes her head gently.

‘You always show up when I need you Sabinuchka, thank you,’ she says lovingly, and the cat purrs louder, as if understanding. Without Sabina around - she would have probably gone insane. The two of them share the loss of Franciszek and Andrej, and Sabina gives her a reason to wake up in the morning. That, and endless affection. After petting the cat some more and finishing her first cup of tea – she decides to be productive and begins going about her day.

*

The sky grows red by the time she begins to fix her modest supper. Ljuba is lost in thought when she is surprised by a knock on the door. ‘Who might that be?’ she ponders as she isn’t expecting a visit. A chill runs down her back when she reaches to open the door. Outside stands a burly officer in his forties carrying a worn rucksack, not far behind him is a horse-driven sprung cart.

“Madam Ljuba Jankovic?” he asks.

“Yes?”

“And you are the mother of private Andrej Jankovic?”

‘Oh no,’ she thinks and looks at the rucksack. This man has come to deliver her late son’s earthly remains. She feels her knees grow weak and leans onto the wooden door frame, then nods her head in response and looks down. When she looks up again, the man is smiling, much to her bewilderment. He turns around and says “Private Jankovic, you are home.”

Her blood grows cold. Ljuba peeks her head to the left of the tall officer and gasps. Behind him stands a young man whose entire face is covered in bandages, with holes left for his mouth, nostrils and eyes. He wears an army uniform that looks far too large for his frame and stands hunched forward, leaning on two wooden crutches, his right leg suspended in the air and bandaged at the ankle. For a few long moments she simply stands frozen at her doorstep – staring at him; her body and mind unable to process the situation.

“Andrej?” she cries. Is this what has become of her beautiful son? Is this what the damned war has left of him? She is about to succumb to anger and frustration when she realizes that Andrej is alive. He is alive and standing in front of her – nothing else matters. Ljuba rushes past the officer and throws her arms around her boy, sobbing into his shoulder. Andrej stands there unmoving, like a statue. He does not wrap his arms around her and return the embrace. When she breaks the hug to look at his face, she sees a vast emptiness in his eyes.

“Hello mother,” replies a voice far deeper and huskier than she expected; not the voice of the boy she remembered. What has happened to him? She turns to face the officer, distress evident in her face, and the officer simply says “Why don’t we talk inside? It has been a long ride and I’m sure Andrej would love to sit down properly.”

*

“The godless bastards knew that they had lost the war and had to pull back, so they decided to set fire to the prisoner camp. Devils!” officer Budimir says and takes a sip of his ale. While he has been boasting about the grand skirmishes and valiant assaults that lead to victory, her son has been sitting there silently. “By the time we got there most of the camp had already gone up in flames, your son is one of the few survivors,” Budimir nods his head in the direction of Andrej, “But he was badly burnt all over.” Ljuba can taste the saltiness of her tears. “For the first few weeks we had no idea who he was, the burns to his face made him unrecognizable. In fact, the only reason one of the officers at the infirmary figured it out - was because of that silver necklace he always wore around his neck.”  ‘Oh bless you Franciszek, my love,’ she thinks and dries tears from her eyes. It was her husband’s necklace, a silver coin with a cross, which he had given to Andrej as a good luck charm before he left for the front. It seems his charm worked. She smiles at Andrej, but he does not look her way, instead staring into the fireplace.  “We kept him in the infirmary for a few more weeks to treat the burns, and the ankle should be fully healed in a week or two according to the doctors,” The officer says, then leans closer to her and lowers his voice. “But the scarring on his face and chest is severe and permanent. That’s why his head is wrapped up, no reason to expose the people on the road to his injuries. Another issue is that he seems to have lost his memory, but the doctors say that it is the trauma, and he will regain it soon enough, probably. It is for the best, the things he must have seen in that camp – I would rather forget all of that,” he says matter of factly. “Give him time and he will return to his former self.” His words don’t fill her with confidence. She recognizes nothing of Andrej in the husk of a man sitting by the fireplace. He is not even a shadow of his former self - he is a different man entirely. “He is a hero of our nation and a part of our glorious victory!” the man announces pridefully and raises his ale to the air.

Shortly after she bids the officer farewell at the door and thanks him for bringing her boy back home. Before she closes the door, Sabina sneaks her way inside. “Sabinuchka, look who it is! Andrej is back!” she calls out excitedly at the cat, who looks at Andrej from afar. She sniffs the air in his direction and approaches slowly. Stopping near where he sits – the cat eyes and sniffs him intently before turning and running away to the bedroom. It seems even she cannot recognize him now. Ljuba has a feeling that her former son might gone for good. But she must not lose hope - like she did before! He is here now, alive and breathing, she must do all she can for him. She sits by him on the sofa and gently rubs his back. She is about to start a conversation when Andrej says quietly “I’m tired, can you help me bath and go to bed?”

“Of course my darling son,” she scolds herself for thinking he would have the energy to sit and talk after the day he must have had.

Ljuba draws him a bath and helps him out of his uniform. She shudders at the sight of his young body. He is all skin and bones, severely malnourished and covered in burn marks all over. Once the bandages are off his face, she realizes that even she could not tell it was her son. His face is unrecognizable, buried beneath thick scars. She pushes those thoughts away and helps him into the bath. He baths silently and she helps him to bed, where he turns on his side away from her and mutters “Goodnight”.

Ljuba enters her bedroom and sits on the bed next to the orange cat. Sabina curls on her knees and purrs, so Ljuba pets her absentmindedly. She feels far older than she felt this morning. She should be overjoyed to have her son back, but instead she feels heartbroken and defeated. An old woman drowning in the grief of the son she lost to the war and the trauma of the son she regained. There is only one thing she can do, one act of defiance against the storm raging within her and the turmoil of her life. Ljuba Jankovic gets off her bed and heads to the kitchen to brew herself a cup of herbal tea. She takes large sips from her cup, praying it will work its wonderous magic upon her once more. That the Lemon Balm, Lemongrass, Sage, Elderflower and Chamomile will take root in her – steel her nerves and grant her the power she needs to face the difficult days ahead. Despite the usual dollop of honey, this time - the tea leaves a bittersweet aftertaste in her mouth. But she doesn’t blame the tea for that, she knows the bitterness comes from within. Ljuba quietly heads to her bedroom, passing by Andrej’s room – which she doesn’t dare look into. Once in bed, she takes the picture of her beloved Franciszek from her nightstand and hugs it to tightly to her chest.

“Now we are all together in the same house again,” she smiles and kisses the man in the photo as tears flood her eyes.

That night, both Lubja and Andrej cry themselves to sleep.