The dog howls. Someone approaches, but not anyone he knows well, or at least not anyone he’s fond of. This howl changes in an instant to a guttural growl, a sound emanating from the back of his throat, this noise requires phlegm.
A knock on my door. She has returned: the raspberry lady is back. The berries are even better looking than usual. There are the usual glistening amber pods, these are in the majority, but this time there are purply red bursts as well. They show off the beauty of the yellow ones like accessories. The berries contrast and attract, like blond hair with a red ribbon.
Analoniama, for that is her name, I've come to find out, passes me a red berry as if it’s a ruby, or at least a rupee. It is precious to her, and when I taste it I understand why. It is sweeter than its yellow counterparts, it has a gentler taste than the strident sour yellow berries.
She is scared of the dog, but he seems more comfortable with her now, after last week's interaction. I shoo Iddli away, and again Analoniama surprises me. She lifts up her sari (no petticoat to be found) to reveal a large, long since healed wound on her right thigh. She moos, and makes horns with her fingers. A cow once wounded her, hence her fear of the dog. Have I interpreted this right?
Instead of the five tins I told her I’d buy, I have wound up with seven. I look down into the stainless steel bowl the berries are in and feel no regret. Analoniama leaves my house with a handshake and a gummy grin. She’ll be back tomorrow with the mushrooms.
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This is great Mo!
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