Grim to be old                                                         back to introduction

 

Marie stands uneasily beside Mrs Tamarind's chair and says "Hello, Mrs Tamarind."

 

"How grim to be old," she thinks. "Old and wrinkly. Hairs on her face - ugh. No one to talk to except my boring Mum. I hope I die before I get old. I hope Mum dies before she gets old. I couldn't bear to visit her here."

 

She shifts from foot to foot. She is wearing her best sandals and has silver nail varnish on her toes. Her feet begin to ache. She kicks off her sandals.

 

"Do her feet ache?" she wonders, looking at the cramped old feet in slippers, rheumaticky toes bent sideways.

 

 

 

 

 

She looks at her own - plump, dirty, painted, a pretty girl's feet.

A shiver runs through her and she looks up, away from the floor. 

 

 

 

 

 

There are some old photos in silver frames on the bedside locker; Marie says in her cheeky voice,"I love your picture frames, Mrs Tamarind. Can I look?"  She reaches out her hand. Mrs Tamarind sits up a little straighter, gazes directly at her.

 

"What bright eyes she has," thinks Marie. "Not old at all."

 

Mrs Tamarind picks up a picture, glances at it and hands it across. "That's me," she says. Her voice is clear and quiet. Marie looks, first at the old frame, softly polished for years, then at the photo. The young eyes look out at her. She looks back at Mrs. Tamarind. "Yes. I can see. It is you."

 

"Tell that to the people here, my dear. They think that this is who I am."
She takes another picture - herself with grey hair at a birthday party - and shows it to Marie.

 

"That's just a version," she says, "Gives people the wrong idea. Makes them think I'm stupid."

Mrs Tamarind smiles, a sudden dazzling smile that shocks Marie. "You're a smart girl. You can come again if you like."

Marie thinks she might do that.

 

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