I used to love climbing when I was a kid. I climbed all the trees in the Volčské Njivy. The cherry tree in the village was particularly interesting and inviting. With plump, bright red, juicy fruit that was among the first to ripen. Who wouldn't want them? Who wouldn't salivate at the sight of a full tree?
One morning, the children who were on holiday that year were encouraged to go to the Škoda family. That was the name of the homestead where the elderly Škodetova Štefa lived. Alone and fed up. We begged for cherries, but she chased us away.
»Never mind, we'll just rabble-rouse!«, I said angrily as we walked back home in frustration.
»How can we not venture up?« moaned Viki.
»Who dares not?«, I exclaimed. »I'm going, and you'll catch the branches I'll throw down!«
As we agreed, so it was.
The next morning we got up early, quietly slipped out of the house and ran to the cherry tree. I climbed for hours towards the top and started breaking off the overflowing branches of sweet fruit. I threw them on the ground, ignoring the argument about who would catch the next branch. But the whispers of my company grew stronger and stronger. I guess Stefa had heard us too and was quietly preparing for a wet surprise.
Once I had broken enough twigs and branches, I started climbing down. Meanwhile, my friends had picked up the branches and couldn't wait to take the cherries under the greenhouse. When I shouted to jump, it burst and splashed straight into my head! Water. A whole bucket of water that Stefa had poured on me. My friends were driven into a race, and I stood like a political pig under the cherry tree and in front of the frowning midwife. I looked at her angrily, shook it off and gave her a look that spelled vengeance.
We finally agreed on when we would take revenge on her; in a week's time. Also early in the morning, because we knew that Stefa would not be up then. Equipped with a rope, we slipped out of the house. We poured water on the floor in silence. I grabbed an empty canteen and crawled to the cherry tree. There I tied the scapular with rope, climbed halfway up the tree and wrapped it around a thick branch. Then we hid behind the hedge and waited anxiously to see what her reaction to our move would be.
We hadn't waited long when the door creaked open. There she was - Stefa, who gave a nasty cry when she saw that neither her water nor her scapular was gone.
»Damn mularia! Where did she hide my water canteen?« she lamented, looking around the courtyard.
She limped into the house, and our consciences were seared. So much so that we went to get the scarf, heads bowed.
»If my father had known what we had done, he would have honestly charge. We stole,« said Viki.
»We're really not fair,« nodded Mojca.
»We're really not fair,« I had to admit.
We took the scarf to Mrs Štefa, apologised and took care of our lumparijo repay the favour with good work. The boys brought her fresh water from the well, and the girls cleaned her house. We put the dishes in their place, swept up and made her bed.
From that morning on, the lady was no longer Stefa, but Stefka. And she was no longer angry with us. We liked to visit her, bring her water, pick fruit and eat it ourselves. We also went to the grocery store, collected eggs and fed her chickens. We brightened her summer days and she brightened ours with her stories and the memory of an unforgettable summer in Volčji Njivy.
Darinka Kobal, 12. 1. 2026
Illustration by Alenka Vuk
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