Nagypapa throws his head back and let’s the grape roll down his throat. He makes a noise suggesting what he’s just eaten is pleasing to his taste buds, well either that or he’s just seen the prettiest girl. “Mmm Mmmmm iz gut!” Though the grapes are fresh from the vine: moist and soft, he struggles to chew them with the four stumps in his mouth.
Under the shade of the tin scrap-metal roof, he sits there contemplating life. Surrounded by potplants, geraniums and other herbalia, he is content like a kid with ice-cream, grinning from ear to ear, two stumps visible, enjoying the sun as it sets behind the valley of his tiny village. Some afternoons he sits out here for eternity, without commitments, just being. No urge or need to leave.
“Dorothy vhy? Vhy don’ you liikes my farm?” he says, freakily knowing what I must have been thinking about. It’s not that I don’t like it; I’m just not a country kind of person. I grew up in a city, in another country, on the other side of the world. We speak two different languages him and I; his is the world of chickens, pigs and haystacks. Mine is concrete towers, school uniforms and vegemite sandwiches. How do you tell that to your grandfather? Born in the horse stall, growing up in the farmhouse and eventually graduating to a mud-brick house “det I build all myselv”.
“Dorothy vhy? Vhy don’ you liikes my farm?” he says, freakily knowing what I must have been thinking about. It’s not that I don’t like it; I’m just not a country kind of person. I grew up in a city, in another country, on the other side of the world. We speak two different languages him and I; his is the world of chickens, pigs and haystacks. Mine is concrete towers, school uniforms and vegemite sandwiches. How do you tell that to your grandfather? Born in the horse stall, growing up in the farmhouse and eventually graduating to a mud-brick house “det I build all myselv”.
“Come on Dorothy, you wan I tell you joke.” I don’t have time, he tells it, looks and me and asks "You understan? Oh iz gut nem?” “Yeah Nagypapa, iz gut.” And even if it’s gone over my head and he starts telling me the next one before I can get it, it doesn’t matter, cos life iz gut with Nagypapa.
