WHAT TOMORROW HOLDS (PART 2)

Peddamma garu kept talking, her voice rising, the same instructions repeating. She kicked her legs restlessly. Mani felt a quiet distress watching the soft-spoken woman she knew become so insistent. Her thin ninety two year old body trembled with the force of her words.

Where did that frail little woman find such strength?

Mani listened, answered patiently, and glanced now and then at the wall clock.

“Why are you looking at the wall when I am talking to you?”

“It’s nothing, Amma,” Mani said with a small smile. If Peddamma garu noticed the time, she would only grow more anxious.

The old woman kept talking. She began recounting things from decades ago, starting with stories from the time of her wedding. Then, all of a sudden, she moved on to an accident that had happened at her daughter’s wedding involving a cooking stove.

She jumped from one memory to another and grew irritated when she felt Mani was not paying close enough attention. Every so often she asked for water, saying her mouth was dry.

Suddenly her tone sharpened.

“My mother and father haven’t come by lately. Where is my husband? Tell him I want to go to my village. If I tell him, he will make arrangements. Ask him to come here.”

“Ayyagaru…” Mani began, but struggled to find the right words.

“What is it? Isn’t he here? Where did he go?”

Mani decided that it would be better to tell her the truth.

“He’s not here, Amma. It’s been many years since he…, she said sadly, looking at the old woman with concern.

The old woman was quiet for a moment. “Oh. Why didn’t anyone tell me? At least you could have told me. I would have gone and seen him one last time. Who will take care of me now?” She paused. “Then I’ll go to my mother and father. Are they still there?”

Mani’s chest tightened. What had happened to this gentle woman? Would she be able to keep her calm through the months ahead?

“What is it, Mani? Why are you crying? Are my mother and father gone too?”

Peddamma garu looked steadily into Mani's face.

Then, she spoke as if to herself, “Yes, of course. Once people grow old, who is there to look after them? My sister-in-law said even old-age homes won’t take you if you can no longer manage on your own. Then who will look after my mother and father? Who will look after my husband? Perhaps it’s better that they’re dead.”

Four days earlier Peddamma garu's sister-in-law had visited. She had praised Peddamma garu for managing so well at her age with only the cook to help her.

“Sister-in-law, you're very brave. And you seem to be in great health. You can even manage on your own without anyone's help. Anyway, in another three or four months, your son and daughter-in-law will be back," she had said.

She then spent the rest of the time complaining about her own daughters-in-law. “There are plenty of old-age homes,” she had said, “but they don’t want you if you can’t take care of yourself. If you become bedridden, forget it. They won’t take you. I never used to worry about it, but these days I can’t help feeling anxious about what the future holds.”

After she left, Peddamma garu had fallen silent for a long while. The next morning she had asked, “Mani, why don’t we ask my sister-in-law to come and stay with us?”

Mani had agreed, though she wondered what had prompted the thought. Peddamma garu seemed to understand Mani’s silence. She murmured something under her breath, looked around the room in mild confusion, and then grew quiet.

Now, in the middle of the night, her face looked drained from talking and from the lack of sleep. Mani felt a deep sadness settle over her as she looked at the old woman.

Isn’t it true that as we grow older, we are left with the worry of what tomorrow holds?

She made a quiet promise to herself that she would not leave the old woman. She would make sure Peddamma garu never had to carry that worry alone. But almost immediately, another thought came to her.

And what about me, when I grow old?

She shook her head at that thought and looked at the clock again. The night had nearly passed. It was five thirty.

“Would you like some coffee, Amma?” Mani asked, pulling back the curtain.

Peddamma garu seemed to return to the present. “All right. Help me, Mani. I’ll wash my face and have some coffee.”

Mani sprang to her feet. She took Peddamma garu's hand and led her toward the bathroom. As the old woman sipped her coffee, Mani half-expected her to say, as she often did after a restless night, “I’ll take a small nap, Mani. You go and finish your work.”

She smiled to herself. Through all the confusion and restlessness of the night, Peddamma garu had never once forgotten her name.
 

Glossary:

Ayyagaru: A respectful Telugu word for the elder patriarch of the household.