Babushka's Magic

• Eden Bennett, Grade 10, Heritage College
• Short Story
• 2021

Excellence Award in the 'Play On Words 2021' competition

“Let me tell you a story,” Babushka would say.
Gold hoops that would take eyes on never ending quests for an end swung from her ears, determined to be noticed before the deep ocean swathing her head in folds of silkworm magic.
Robes of crimson, emerald and mahogany created the illusion that she clad herself in the earth’s first fruits.
Her startlingly sharp sage eyes sported thick walnut lashes, crowned with arching hickory-brown brows whose paint seemed eternal.
She would stretch out her gnarled hands, fingers curled from rheumatism, silently welcoming curious youngsters around her, a kindly smile warming the innumerable lines that mapped endless paths on her tanned, weathered face.
I would bring the Story Chair, a battered oak stool twice as old as Babushka herself, winding my way through the ever-growing crowd, then setting the seat behind Babushka, I’d dart away, away from the searching eyes of farmers and their families, bakers, smithies, even barons.
As Babushka lowered herself down onto the creaking stool, an eerie hush would silence the murmuring crowd.
Eyes wide with expectation, peasants, nobles, stewards, slaves, craftsmen, and royalty would become equal at that moment. The stress of taxes, famines, rain, and goods would disappear along with the rest of their worries.
The rest of us, us nomads from the Dooriya Gypsy Circus, would grin from our hiding spots, pausing our various preparations for the night’s show every time Babushka, the life and soul of our campfires, so predictably, so perfectly, created a cocoon of peace amongst villagers and gentry.
No matter how many times we had heard it before, we would all be enchanted by the spell Babushka wove, only to come out as if from sleep when she opened her eyes and smiled, murmuring, “Ahmir ur Makut?” “Did you hear the Magic?”
No on would mind when it was over, when I appeared again to take away the Story Chair, when Babushka hobbled away.
Because everyone had sailed the seas of time and place, ridden noble steads alongside legends, fought the beasts of myths, wandered through glorious paradises, stayed the curses of wizards. Smithies had conquered lands alongside jewellers, plough hands had rescued maidens with the aid of seamen, nobles had saved the wounded with maids.
We’d all been bewitched, I guess. The Magic was so wonderful, so overwhelming, that we never noticed it fading until it was gone.
But I’ll tell you a secret. The Babushka’s Magic will live on, through the centuries, whispered by babushkas long after knights are a thing of the past.
Hush. Can you hear the magic?