Vegetables, herbs and other plants of love

Vegetables, herbs and other plants of love

Ding!

A silver knife failed to cut through the hard stalk of a half-raw broccoli, it broke off and clattered on the wide white plate. Carrot and mushroom slices jumped up, flipped over in midair, and fell back down onto the fancy porcelain. For several years now, Eva has hardly ever broken from her vegetarian diet. She even learned to enjoy it (at least from time to time), she learned to cook a few special dishes, and she could easily deal with all this stuff at the table. But these green stir-fries were too difficult for her. They were hard to cut, hard to chew, and even harder to taste.

But she did her best. First for her fiancé's delight. Then to spite her parents and her aunt. And now for her own sake. Eva's lover had been a vegetarian for over ten years, even longer than they had known each other. He was a convincing speaker, so that Eva became a follower of his ideas almost immediately. From the first (and the last) time when he let go of the chauffeur and drove her himself to his house, to the rustling of satin curtains, the creaking of oak floorboards, and the echo of violin music from records. In the morning, his cook served them poached eggs with pieces of red and yellow peppers. The aroma of oriental spices and the taste of fire-baked peppers almost consumed her, but then her lover started speaking. She listened with fascination to the stories about the Roman legionnaires who ate only vegetables, fruits and sprouted grains. She listened about the undisputed value of life and the definite harmony of coexistence. About the future society which will honor the life of the smallest insect and the most slippery worm. And what can we say about the cute creatures that we have raised and tamed ourselves?

Such humanism was something completely new for a girl from a provincial town. Of course, the diet was also unusual for her body, so at first Eva would eat some fried chicken and grilled sausages when she came home. But by doing this she felt unwell more and more often. She didn't understand whether it was her body getting used to living ‘on grass alone’ or was it guilt poisoning her very being. After all, she really believed in the value of life, and in harmony, and in cute tiny creatures. Oh, and she loved ladybugs so much! 

But who knows would her faith completely overcome her inner cravings if not for her quarrels with her own beloved and honored family members. The less meat Eva ate, the more difficult it was with her family. During dinner, Aunt Marta, her father's sister, would toss and turn on her oak chair with a padded seat. Just like a kettle boiling on the stove. And she hissed just like a kettle too. 

– This is not about some metropolitan antics! These are our traditions! Sausages, various meats, cabbage stew with honey ribs, pork rinds in potatoes! What will your neighbours say if they find out that you eat only leaves, vegetables and grass, like some cow?

Her father's quiet reproaches and moans hurt her more, much more. Eva knew that her father, a Catholic priest, was a fasting man, so he didn't eat meat for more than two hundred days a year. And he lived with it well. His whining was only in words about ‘grass and leaves’. In reality, it was always going to come down to the influence of a man who didn't take the time to come to meet the family. He was stuck in politics! Twenty-three years older! An atheist! They live together not being married! Her father opened up hell in front of her with a quiet well-pitched voice. His greying head was tilted to one side during these conversations. His eyes were trying to look so deeply into her as if they were going to reach either her secret thoughts or the boiled carrots in her stomach. It was un-paternally intimate, unexpectedly jealous, it was unpleasant to the point of a cramp in her throat.

Eva visited her parents less and less, became more and more attached to her lover, and experimented persistently with mushrooms, seeds, and vegetables. Even with broccoli.

So she picks up the knife again, lowers the tip a little further in front of the stem. She gently lowers it onto the hard green. Instead of pressing the knife on the vegetable, she saws it like a tree trunk. In a few seconds, she has a piece of mushroom, a piece of carrot, and half a broccoli on her fork. It all goes down into the yellowish mustard sauce, rises to the lips. Once again, the same exercise, and Eva finishes the meal. Her lover had finished a minute earlier, wiped his lips and moustache with a napkin, and was waiting for her. She puts the fork and knife crosswise on the plate. The groom lifts the bell.

Immediately after the housekeeper has gathered the plates and napkins and went out, a knock comes to the dining room. A loud ‘yes!’, and a man in military uniform enters. He puts his feet together with a sound, raises his hand forward and up:

– Heil Hitler!

For a second and a half, the right hand of the officer is up. It goes down, then the left hand puts two boxes on the table. One is bigger, and you can hear the clinking of heavy metal. The other is smaller, and the officer moves it closer to Eva. She opens the box and takes out a handful of white pills.

When the officer leaves, they stand still for a few moments. Then the lover opens the box, takes out a pistol, walks around the table and sits down closer to Eva. He puts his arm around her shoulder and looks into her eyes:

– ‘Did you have a good lunch, Eva?

– Yes, Adolf, thank you very much.