Shifting Focus

The sun is sinking slowly. Its golden rays break through the dense leaves of the walnut tree. I can see a myriad of green husks. Some branches hang lower than usual.

“Can you move a bit?”

My sister-in-law approaches me and I step aside mumbling an apology. She balances the tray with plates, cutlery and glasses. With glasses clinking against each other, she places the tray on the table. There is now a crease in the tablecloth and my fingers itch to pull the fabric.

“Sam, go inside and help your brother to prepare the salad.”

I turn around. My mother approaches with one tray loaded with meat. Sausages, steaks, skewers. Immediately, she shoos away the incoming flies. I pull a face. My mother’s face sours.

“Just help. I don’t need another sermon.”

I open my mouth. Her mouth pulls down further. I close my mouth again. She waves me away just like the flies buzzing around the meat.

“Ah, Sam! Tell Tom to bring the tongs!”

My father is focused on the gleaming coal in front of him, but his body turns half in my direction. A grin is tucking at my lips, and I take a few steps toward my father.

The beginning grin is wiped off my face. I frown.

”The tongs are there. To your left.”

My father’s bushy white eyebrows shoot up. His eyes widen.

”I brought them earlier. You asked me, remember?”

My mother puts the platter with the meat on the small table next to the barbecue. The lines of her face are deeper when she is unhappy.

“I did? Well, next time don’t put them on the left.”

”You told me to put them there.”

”Not possible. I’ve never had the tongs on the left side. For over sixty years I’ve put them on the right.”

My mother scoffs and my father’s already flushed cheeks turn even redder.

No, no, no. Why do you need to escalate?

I open my mouth. No words come over my lips.

”Grammpa can I help you?”

My nephew squeezes between me and my father. With a huff my mother turns around and starts setting the table. My father looks at his grandson with a smile on his lips.

”Of course! Grandpa is going to show you how to properly grill the meat. Come.”

I am forgotten. I stare at the tall man whose clothes look a little baggier than a few months ago. He is chatting away with my nephew, explaining in detail what the best cooking temperatures for different meats are. My seven-year-old nephew stares at him, his eyes wide and my chest tightens.

”Sam! The sa… salmon!”

I turn around. My mother is standing next to the table. She sways slightly, like the branches of the walnut tree.

”Salmon?”

”Don’t play dumb. You know what I mean. The salary. Ah, the salsa. Salad! Go inside!”

I follow my mother’s orders. Her pinched mouth doesn’t leave any room for further delay. I pass my sleeping niece in her bouncy chair. The pacifier has fallen out but her tongue and lips are still moving. My chest tightens even more, and my feet won’t carry me any further.

I could have had that too.

With the thought the memory of a crying face pops up in my mind. I quickly push it aside. The baby in front of me starts to stir. Maybe I have stared for too long. Quickly, I make my way down the corridor.

After a few steps, I can hear my brother’s singing. I sigh. The radio is also running and I slow down. Just then I can hear my mother call for the salad again. I open the door. The cacophony stops me in my tracks. It takes a few moments before my brother looks up.

“Ah, you’re finally there. I asked mum to send you ages ago.”

With a controlled exhale, I switch off the radio. Immediately, I feel lighter. The fog in my head clears. My brother pulls a face and resembles our mother despite the rest of him looking like our father.

“Why did you do that?”

“So we can talk while preparing the salad. What are you doing?”

I look into the bowl. There are chunks of red onion, some corn and half a spring onion. All of it is swimming in some liquid which might be the brine of the canned corn.

“It’s mum’s corn salad. I’m cutting the sausage right now.”

“That’s not an ingredient for mum’s salad.”

“Are you sure?”

With shining fingers he flips through the binder in front of him.

Why do you flip? Shouldn’t you be on the right page?

“Oh, my bad. That’s the sausage salad. Maybe we shouldn’t make that together.”

“No, we shouldn’t.”

While my brother stuffs the pieces of sausage from the cutting board in his mouth, I drain the liquid from the bowl and fish out the spring onion. I work hard to ignore the noises my brother makes chewing on the sausage. My stomach clenches. I take out the vegetable cutting board.

“What are you doing now? It says we need it.”

I look at him and he stares back. I search for a hint of mocking or sarcasm. Then I shake my head and point at the recipe. His lips move while reading and I cut the spring onion. My brother stuffs another piece of sausage in his mouth. He chews loudly. I wish I could make the sound stop.

“It’s getting worse.”

“Huh?”

I look up and barely miss my finger. Suppressing a curse I scoop the spring onions into the bowl. Then I look at my brother. He is twirling the knife on its point, drilling a small hole into the cutting board.

“Mum and dad.”

I nod and sit down. My brother puts the knife down and looks me in the eye. I have never seen him look so serious.

“We need a plan. They need help.”

“Mum doesn’t want to have anybody in the house. I’ve tried.”

“Can’t you stay longer?”

I shake my head.

I need to leave. I can’t stay with them.

My chest tightens again.

“It was only supposed to be temporary. I can’t live with them.”

“You have been doing it for three months. Just …”

“No, I can’t. There’s … I can’t. I have to go back.”

Although she won’t be there anymore.

My brother sighs. He is fidgeting with his fingers. I straighten my back.

“I get it. I get it.”

Another sigh.

“Then we need to present them with the solution. Actually, Sylvie has looked into a few care facilities. If you chip in, we can afford a decent one.”

I nod despite knowing that this is risky.

“How will we get them to move out?”

“First let’s find a place. Then we’ll figure something out. I’ll send you the links. We can make sure that it’s between your place and our place. That way we can still visit.”

His eyes slightly wider, his eyebrows raised he now looks like our father. All traces of our mother’s sour expressions are gone. The tightness in my chest still won’t disappear, but I force a smile on my lips.

“Ok, let’s finish this salad. Mum’s not going to be happier if we take any longer.”

My stomach is full of bread and dip. Ralf next to me is munching on his third sausage. He is ignoring his mother’s warning to eat some of the salad as well. I can understand why he doesn’t want to try it. The sauce is too thin, and I should have only cut in half a chili.

At least I didn’t oversalt.

“Where are the tongs? There is a last steak which needs to go on the grill.”

I look over at my father who still hasn’t sat down.

“It’s enough, Paul. We're awl... done eading.”

“What? Speak properly, Linda.”

My head whips around. I hear my nephew giggle.

“Grammy say it again!”

I grab my phone. My brother’s chair topples over. My mother’s knife clatters on the stone floor.