The old houses with their shingled roofs defied the ravages of time, the gardens were full of fragrant herbs and the streets knew almost every step of their inhabitants. People lived simply, some on meagre pensions, others on what nature gave them. Young people mostly went elsewhere, to the bigger cities, in search of better opportunities. The rest were mainly older people who had known each other all their lives and gathered outside the shop to chat about the weather, the produce and memories.
Anna Rosenfeld was one of the few young people in the village. Her family was not rich, but she was brought up with warmth and values that were still important here. They are even more valued in the village.
On that cold Tuesday morning, when the clouds were "threatening" snow and the wind carried the smell of winter, she went to the village shop. The route was familiar - through the main square, past the low stone wall separating the churchyard from the main road, and straight to the wooden door of the shop, where the little bell on the door always jingled cheerfully when anyone entered.
When she walked in, she saw an old woman standing in front of the cash register. Her worn fingers were carefully taking coins from her wallet, her hands trembling slightly. The shop assistant waited patiently, but Anna could see that the old woman was already assessing what she would have to give up with her eyes.
"I'll just leave this," she said, pushing aside a packet of washing powder. "We'll get by without it today."
The shop assistant said nothing, just nodded slightly as if she understood.
Anna watched the scene in silence. She remembered how, when she was a little girl, this same old woman would always greet her with a warm smile and secretly squeeze an apple, a pear or a biscuit in her hand. She was one of those "grandmothers" who smelled of lavender and homemade bread, who could tell the most beautiful stories about the old days and who made the children of the village feel that they were an important part of the community. There was always the message that the youngsters were not to be feared.
Without thinking, she reached into her pocket and placed a "twenty" on the counter. "Add the powder, too," she said.
The old woman looked up and her eyes widened. "But, my dear, there's no need..."
"Please take it," Anna replied gently. "You gave me so many biscuits as a child when I passed by your house. It's the least I can do."
The shop assistant smiled slightly and typed in the bill. The old woman took the powder carefully, as if she was holding something "sacred".
"God repay you, little girl," she whispered, patting her hand.
As she walked out of the shop, she noticed that the clouds had parted and the first rays of sunlight were peeking through the grey sky. Maybe it was just a coincidence, maybe it wasn't.
Zala Krupljan, 17. 2. 2025
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