The One Eyed Witch
She’d gained her sight when she lost her eye. It was fated, really. Fred was a bit of a terror, that boy, it was no surprise that his elbow knocked her eyeball out. That’s how she described it when someone asked. She slept with her grandson on a slim pallet over the stove, in the old Russian way. One night, when she was squashed on her side between the wooden wall and the boy, he was getting big, maybe eight or nine, his elbow made contact with her eye socket in the middle of the night and did permanent damage.
Melania didn’t mind much. She was old by then. The village already knew her as a healer, this only increased her storied powers and brought more women to her. Sometimes they came in the cover of night or they made up an errand to visit the family and then they whispered they needed to access her plant magic. Cuts, burns, bruises and births, she dealt with those. But she helped with the unspeakable too. It wasn’t magic, really, if you understand the way the garden worked. Few had the knowledge or the curiosity to experiment. It was passed down to her from her mother before her and now she’d give it to the ones who followed her bloodline.
Fred’s brother, Sergei, was the child who paid attention to her work. He’d offer to carry her basket when she gathered plants. She made the excuse she couldn’t navigate with one eye to take him away from his chores and guide his Baba through the woods. They often walked together out past the tree line behind the barn. She had him smell or taste or dig to see what he was dealing with. They started with the edible plants, every person could do with the knowledge to feed themselves in emergency, but then they moved on the remedies and healing aids. Poison too, as he became older, the ones that were immediately bitter on the tongue.
And as they ventured out to forage, that’s when she taught him to see. Her grandson didn’t need teaching, really, just guidance. He was born with the oracle in him, as his granddaughters and great granddaughters would be one day. She shaped and refined his ability. Taught him to trust himself. Gave him the knowing it had taken her lifetime to know.
When her eyeball fell out, that’s when she came into her knowing. She was sure in her ability, the light she saw surrounding people told her all she needed to know. It didn’t matter anymore what the church ladies thought once her eye socket was sunken. They would come, walk with her, tell her their stories, the stories she already knew but politely listened to. Untruths continued as untruths. They weren’t yet ready to face them. She knew, and she listened, and she gave them the tea or the tincture that they would need, often not the remedy they had asked for but deeply they were seeking.
It was used for good, mostly. Wishing bad things on a person could make bad things happen and she didn’t want to take on that responsibility with God. Like that time, in anger, she wished Piotr drop dead and then he did. No, her job was to help. An unformed child was different, it was easy to release the soul back to the universe before it had arrived on earth.
It was getting harder for her to climb up the ladder to her stove bed. She’d stoke the wood fire underneath for the night then, crawl atop the roof of it and cozy into her thin, warmed nest beside sleeping Fred. She let him stay there, after the eye-incident, to show she forgave him. He would have enough to carry in this life he didn’t need the guilt of harming his Baba in his sleep. She lay there, beside him, in that place right before she was asleep but not quite awake either and that’s when the spirits came. And they came in force.
People travelled from all over Poland now, to receive the messages through her. Most of the time she enjoyed it, giving peace to the grieving mothers. Passing on a last bit of information about the family business a brother needed. She was helping them, she felt. But sometimes it was dark.
She had to judge a person to see how they could take it. She could see once in a while it just wasn’t the right time for the souls to connect. She promised herself she wouldn’t do harm to anyone. Sometimes the spirits wanted harm, they were full of venom. That’s when she’d scold them, wagging her curled swollen finger at them, telling the spirit to come back when they could be helpful. Usually they would, but other times they went away in anger and stayed there.
Anton, her son, had been talking of leaving. Melania knew, of course, things were getting worse. She told him of the consequences if his sons had to go to war. There were five of them, not all could come out unscathed. Neither could live with the bloodshed of their boys.
She’d started charging the far away visitors, when it looked like they had some coins to spare. They were gathering the money to take the boys away. Away anywhere but especially away from the war. The path she saw was ugly, it needed to be pushed another direction. She didn’t have that kind of sway in the spirit world. She could see it, but she couldn’t influence it.
They’d saved up enough for four of the boys to leave with their parents, but not all five. Peter, the oldest boy, he might have to fend for himself. He was a hard worker. She saw a path for it to happen if he’d finally gained the courage to propose. Peter wouldn’t have the better option he was holding out for. A kind wife and a rich father-in-law were awaiting his acceptance. Melania would do her best to steer him that way.
She worried for her boys. They would go without her. She didn’t need to cross the sea. Her soul was preparing to leave. Not too soon, not until she knew the boys were safe. Then she’d make her peace. She’d miss Sergei most of all. Pelagia too, her daughter in law, and of course Anton. The family would be fine. Better than fine, they’d be prosperous, she’d seen it. She couldn’t tell them that though, they needed the hunger to survive. Melania would pour all she could into them before their departure. She vowed it to herself, rubbed here eye socket, and rolled over to join Fred in sleep.
Lauren Kalinowski is an emerging writer from Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. Her literary work focuses on the female experience and familial relationships.