1 november

The way I translated it was this:

You should know that it was in the living room, also the dining room and sometimes bedroom—meaning they were the same room. It was after a lunch that might have been breakfast. We were always eating, sitting down, waiting for food that didn’t need to come, but came anyway, and we were appreciative. What could you do? It was the nicest thing they could do, and they were the nicest people.

The big table was out, all the leaves in. The cakes were piled up in two glass stands of arrayed overwhelm, paired goblets for a greedy giant. Every so often somebody would reach for a piece of cake and everyone else would watch, nod, comment. When you’re so full, the rest of the table has to eat for you.

The light is important to remember. The curtains were never open the whole way. Maybe there was a reason I never thought about. Maybe it was to keep neighbors passing on the road to keep passing and not stopping to stare in at those foreign relatives visiting, wherever they’re from anyway, I heard it’s Canada.

The story comes from nowhere, though it is a time when my father is visiting and they are always happy to tell him stories. They know he’s looking, and listening. I try, they know, but the chance of correctly interpreting a dozen energized relatives in exchange with one story-ravelling, joke-telling, actor/ journalist/ communicator extraordinaire is a little rough.

It looks like this:

Where does the name ‘Krut’ come from? Where does the first Krut come from?

This is the plunge into myth, the spin into certainty that these are my people and this is my story:

Long ago, a man, possibly a German, wandered in a dark forest for many, many days. He was lost, and traveled in circles. He could not find his way out, for the forest was dense and confusing. Finally, he was found by a priest. The priest took care of the man, helped him, and gave him a name—Krut, for krutyty, which means ‘to spin sharply’, for all of the turning around that the man had been doing in the forest.

Could such a story be true? Its simplicity, complete lack of proof or development, and the vague delivery--? When asked, the teller laughed and shrugged. “Chomy v ni?” he asked. Why not?