The Black Pot

I have a good life.

My mother died a very long time ago. I was young and don’t remember much of it. To be honest, I only remember our first home and barely having learned to walk. I never knew my father. He must have died in the war. My brothers told me about the war. It was bloody and messy and terrible. My brothers said it's better that I didn't see it.

My stepmother took us in, me and my two brothers. She came to our house one day, and said I will take care of you. She took very good care of us. I really don't remember much from back then. For one, I don't remember if she came before or after my mother died. But that doesn't matter.

She didn’t have any children of her own. She really loved us, like we were truly her own. She fed us, bathed us, sometimes even played with us outside. One time, she bought us shoes. All three of us, matching pairs of shoes! We were overjoyed! I still remember the smell of the grass outside, when we were stomping our feet in the ground.

I'm the youngest of the bunch. There's Sivo, the eldest, and Karo, the middle one. I always loved my brothers, as much as I loved my stepmother. Maybe even a bit more, because they reminded me of our mother. Even though I didn't remember her. Maybe they smelled like her, and somehow I remembered that. I never could tell.

She is a very busy woman, my stepmother. She was always cooking. There are always people coming and going, going and coming. They bring all kinds of things to my stepmother, and she gives them all kinds of things back. But she mostly gives them food. She has three different pots, my stepmother. When people come, sometimes she gives them food from the silver pot, and sometimes from the black pot. I don't know how she decides which pot to give them food from. But she knows. She is very smart. What I know is that the food we eat is always made in the red pot.

I remember the day when my stepmother brought Brok and Musta. When she introduced us, she said their mother had died, and they had no one to care for them. She said they will stay with us, and that we could play and have fun. To be honest, I think our house only become quieter after that.

We never really learned to get along with them, me and my brothers. Whenever we tried to play with them, Brok and Musta would run and scream and shout. A couple of times they even wanted to fight with us. We gave up trying to play with them after that second time, when they poked Karo in the eye. My stepmother loved them though. They were always running around my stepmother during the day, climbing on the kitchen tops and meddling in her cooking. I don't know why she let them do that. We were forbidden to run around her when she was working. Maybe because we were bigger than Brok and Musta.

Brok and Musta didn't want to play as much as us, but in the evenings, they would always go to my stepmother, sit in her lap and enjoy the fireplace warmth. She never did that with us. But it's okay. We had grown by then and were too heavy to sit in her lap anyway.

I remember when Brok got sick. He got sick quite bad. We had never seen anything like it, me and my brothers. Whenever we would get sick, it would go away in a day, never more. But Brok got sick bad. My stepmother made all kinds of soups and porridge and pottages to heal him. He was not getting better.

And that's when Sivo got lost.

I don't know what happened, but I remember the day. Brok was sick, heaving on the floor. My stepmother took Brok in her arms, and asked Sivo to help her take him out for air. As if having forgotten something, she got back, and grabbed the black pot. The one for the people coming and going. I was playing in the corner when she looked at me. I remember the look in her eyes. Her mouth was smiling, but her eyes were sad. Brok was really sick, and she really loved him. She loved all of us.

They were gone for a long time, but when they got back, Brok was completely healed. He ran in the house and played with Musta. But Sivo did not come back with them. My stepmother said Sivo got lost. He got lost, and she couldn't find him. There was sadness in her voice, and something else I could not recognise.

We cried for days, me and Karo. Every time we wanted to play, I would start to call his name, but the words would get stuck in my throat, and the pain in my chest would make me squeal. I never felt pain, not even when I was sick. But when Sivo was gone, the pain nestled inside my chest and it stayed there. Whenever the pain would come, me and Karo would lie in the corner and hug.

My stepmother was different after Sivo got lost. She stopped playing with us, and she was playing much more with Brok and Musta. Every day, the food that would come out of the red pot would be more and more for Brok and Musta, and less and less for me and Karo. But it's okay. We played much less after Sivo got lost, and we weren't as hungry.

My stepmother got even busier after Sivo got lost. More and more people kept coming to our house, and she would wake up much earlier, and go to bed much later, always working. Brok and Musta were helping her with the cooking, and she always told them how good they were and how much she loved them. When the people would start coming, me and Karo would hide under the blankets in the corner, trying to stay away from all the noise. My stepmother didn't have much time to talk to us, because she was so busy.

My stepmother was at her busiest when Musta got sick. It was like when Brok got sick. She would heave and throw-up black goo on the floor. It was scary. I was worried for her. The night she got sick, I remember my stepmother coming to us and asking Karo to help her take Musta outside. She held the black pot in her hands. Karo went with her, and just before he stepped out, he turned back at me. He said "It's okay", but his good eye was worried.

That was the last time I saw Karo.

When my stepmother came back, Musta was leaping and bounding and jumping and yelling. She was completely healed. But Karo did not come back. My stepmother said Karo got lost. That was when I cried the loudest I have ever cried in my life. The pain in my chest doubled, and after that day, it never really went away.

A long time has passed since then. I learned to live without my brothers. I still think about them, every day. I would sometimes wonder if they were thinking of me, wherever they were. What makes it easier are the dreams. In my dreams, I play and run with them every night, and they tell me they will never leave.

Some time ago my stepmother brought another child home. Red, my stepmother calls her. She is a lively one. She's always up and about, and unlike Brok and Musta, she wants to play with me! I don't have the energy I had when I was younger, but I do play with her from time to time. Sometimes when I'm sad, she runs to me and hugs me. Sometimes, she makes me forget I miss my brothers. I really like Red.

My stepmother doesn't have as much work nowadays. Brok and Musta have grown up, and they don't help her as much with the cooking. But Red does. Red is always around my stepmother, making sure she puts the right ingredients in the silver pot, and the right ingredients in the black pot.

Red got sick today.

It's the same heaving I've seen twice already. I don't wait. I go up the stairs and knock on my stepmother's door. When she opens the door, I can barely recognise her. She has grown old. Very old. I never noticed it until now. She limps down the stairs and goes to the kitchen.

"Milo, go outside!"

I don't wait for her to tell me twice.

As I stumble across the threshold, it dawns on me. I haven't been outside in years. The air is chilled, but refreshing at the same time. I had grown used to the smell of my stepmother's cooking, and I had completely forgotten about the smells outside. There are hundreds of smells floating, each one like a fine line of string stretching out and away from my nose, twisting and bending and leading into someone's home. Two lead into the shed at the end of the yard where I sense something familiar. I don't have time to linger on that, stepmother is coming.

My stepmother comes limping, carrying the black pot in one hand and Red in the other.

She lays Red on the ground, and I rush in to hug her. The fresh air gave me energy I had thought long lost.

"You'll be alright friend. Stepmother knows how to heal you. She healed Brok and Musta before!"

I don't know if she hears what I say. Her eyes are white and cloudy and tired.

I look at my stepmother.

"Come here, Milo.", she says, reaching her arms out.

But her eyes are empty. She no longer has that caring shine in her eyes. Thinking about it, I think she lost it a long time ago.

The smell from the shed becomes stronger, it's almost pulling me in. I think of Sivo and Karo. I realise I haven't thought about them in a long time. Maybe they are back. Maybe they decided to come back and they are hiding in the shed, waiting to surprise me.

"Sivo! Karo!"

I try running but my legs give up. My stepmother grabs me from behind.

"It's okay, boy. It's okay. You're a good boy.", she whispers into my ear.

I feel something poke my chest. It's small, a needle perhaps. It pokes right into the bundle of pain I have had growing since Sivo left. It stings a bit, and I want to scratch it, but it feels good too. My stepmother will heal me of the pain!

As the light slowly goes out around us, the last thing I see is the wooden ladle come out of the black pot. My stepmother wants to feed me. But that's not our pot. We always eat from the red pot.

I look at Red.

I know she'll be alright. Stepmother will heal her. I take a gulp of the ladle.

I think about Sivo and Karo one last time. I want to get lost, like they did.

Maybe if I got lost, I would find them.

The light is almost out now.

I look up into the sky.

Just for a moment, I can remember what my mother looked like.

I remember what she smelled like.

I close my eyes and wait to get lost.