Silence | Book 2

2-2: Little Mouse

With both hands Tristan tried to tip over a heavy bag of flour to get the contents into a large bowl. It wasn't easy when he had to balance on an old wooden chair with legs of slightly different lengths, while at the same time struggling to lift the bag. The contents suddenly poured forth from the uneven hole he'd torn, and half of it missed the bowl. A cloud of white coated everything in a fine layer of flour, including his face and bright blue pajamas. Oops...

He dusted himself off with both hands, but his curiosity got the better of him. He peeked down into the bowl to see if he had enough for his plan. A wide grin spread on his face, not worried about how bad the kitchen looked when he had managed to get enough flour for his grand plans. Excited, he scrambled up unto the wooden countertop. Sitting on both knees, he searched the top cabinets.

A small, woven basket with half a dozen eggs that his grandfather had gathered the evening before, sat between mason jars of fruit jams, pickled vegetables and all sorts of other conserves. He plucked the straw and feathers from some of the eggs, but still considered them too dirty for his purposes. Not happy with the way they were, he carefully climbed down the counter, one leg dangling in search for the chair. With a little hop, he set his bare feet on the black and white tiled floor again.

He grabbed the basket of eggs, and took it with him to the back door. With a grand feat of childish strength, he lifted the iron latch with one hand. As quietly as he could, he opened the door. Even then it still creaked. Afraid of getting caught, he quickly darted outside through the gap.

It was a damp, rather chilly summer morning. In the early, soft blue hues just before sunrise, several dozen birds sang. The gently rolling mountains of Poland were covered in soft, dew-dotted grass, uneven acres and pine trees as far as the eye could see. A breeze rustled through his hair and clothes, and he felt a little cold. Especially with his bare feet getting wet from the grass. Quickly he crossed the short distance to the old water pump.

He placed the basket of eggs underneath the pump. The metal handle of the pump was difficult to lift, and he needed both hands to pump up and down. A few metallic squeaks later, cool water spilled forth from the pump, clattering over the eggs. Satisfied with his slightly cleaner eggs in the wet basket, he darted back inside.

The moment he put the wet eggs down onto the counter, a bright light flashed behind him. He jolted up and turned around, startled by the light.

,,I spy... a little mouse in my kitchen." His grandmother said in Polish, as she lowered the flashlight and walked out from the corner. The suddenness and fright of being caught caused him to start crying in response, knowing that he had done something he shouldn't. Quickly his grandmother walked over, and lifted him atop the counter to sit him down.

,,What are you doing up so early?" Her voice was soothing and calm, while she used a clean cloth to gently wipe the tears and flour from his face.

"I wanted to bake apple pie." He tried to defend himself between sobs, defaulting to English from fear.

,,With the oven cold and no apples?"

He nodded, not really having thought so far ahead: he just wanted to do it. His grandmother sighed and looked at the mess he had made on the counter.

,,How about you help me clean up, little mouse, and then you can ride Alex while we go to town."

The moment she mentioned Alex, his face lit up, the tears quickly forgotten.

"Really?"

,,Mhm, so we can make a pie to go with our tea in the afternoon?" She asked with a smile, as she grabbed him under his shoulders and lifted him off of the counter.