Obeying the Blind Laws of Nature

Have you eaten, asked the woman I found out in the rain. She made herself at home in my kitchen.

I nodded.

She knew I was lying. Still, she took the food from my cupboard and ate it as though she were entitled to do so. How long she had been out in the rain, I don’t know; neither do I know why she had been out there without coat or umbrella.

I’m still hungry, said the woman I found out in the rain. I had already sold what was supposedly valuable to make it through the winter. I didn’t bother telling her that she had just eaten all of it.

I went into my study to get my mother’s emerald ring. Her husband had given it to her before dying. Which is what mother did: When you marry, give her this, she instructed me once from her sickbed. It’s just as well, I mused, as I took the ring from its drawer, that’ll never happen now anyway.

……….

I brought back bread, charcoal, poultry, and rice.

That’s it? asked the woman I found out in the rain.

I was beginning to understand why I found her out in the rain.