Oh, Mother!

NOT FOR SENSITIVE READERS.

“Hunting with Mother.” Three words can portray an entire story and adding a spoonful of neurotic spice to it, stakes are high for a things-will-turn-sour, plot.  After the opening explanation it is appropriate to introduce the handsome, methodical, uncompromising Johannes as our protagonist. (A forth trait needs to be added where the story will not be the same without it). Our hero is accident-prone.

Let’s do a flashback. Grandpa John invites Johannes to go hunting with him and they spend the summer learning the tricks of the trade, practicing and target shooting on the farm in the Orange Free State. Then finally the day comes, but the eleven year old and captain of his rugby team has to play before driving three hours to meet with Grandpa for the big hunting expedition. Minutes before the final whistle blows he scores the winning try, but then the opposition’s number two decides to bring an end to future victories and falls on him, leaving Johannes in a sullen state of mind and on top of it a broken arm. After spending some time in hospital, he phones Grandpa and arrives hunting-ready on the farm, arm in a cast with sling and gun over the shoulder. A couple of days later the local newspaper honor the courageous boy posing with the deer antlers.

The first turning point comes when the now twenty-two year old hero’s hunting companion, who also happens to be the father, takes a trip to Europe and Mother insists on going along. Johannes made a study of the why and how of hunting as if he’s doing a Masters, but the know-it-all Mother hunted with Grandpa John since very young, not using any of the expensive online gadgets. Long story short, Johannes gives the ultimatum, the rejection of it will result in a breakdown of relations. Mother doesn’t have the nerve to let the child go hunting on his own in the snow covered woods and in case of an accident. After a lengthily debate she agrees on using the smelling-like-a-dear soap and wear the heavy hunter’s orange jacket.

When night finally shakes hands with dawn, the hunting party against the horn-scraped tree, is ready. Deer can walk by any minute. Totally excited by the movement in the bushes, our hero signals Mother to be very quiet, but the very moment the statuesque buck appears, Mother coughs the potluck and composure away. Johannes swings the gun over his shoulder and extends a very cold hand to the anti-hero, with the only thing on her mind -- Leonardo’s famous Titanic moments before he drowns. “It’s cold, very cold.”

In the freezing forth hour of the next morning and undoubtedly tagged as insane, Mother escorts Johannes once again, the latter looking like a pack-animal with the gun, blanket, chair with hot pillow and a flask with coffee. Wretchedly uncomfortable he takes the long road; walks passed the apple plantation, over the uneven plowed field, alongside the winter wheat, before finally perches against the tree with no scrapes. Mother burns the incense sticks and performs a ritual, trying to add humor to a very lame situation.

Snow wipes through the branches and Johannes hoot-hoot the calling horn, but after a few hours of waiting, he empties the magazine. “Let’s go”, says he with aversion that can set the bush on fire. Our hero is devastated.

Mother on the other hand is kind of happy for successfully refraining from coughing, opens the flask and offers Johannes steaming hot coffee while chatting along. He folds the chair and then…there is such a thing as divine intervention. Johannes drops the chair, digs into the pocket of his jacket, find a cartridge and fires. It all happens in a split second and Mother, partially deafened by the bang, still recognizes the sound of a sure hit and sees the deer downed. 

It’s time for another flashback to remind the reader how far away from the vehicle this hunting-couple is.

Every story has a beginning, middle and after the big show off, an end. For this the writer has to wrap it up, but for the hunter not so much. Our hero reminds Mother of the next step – skinning and needing all the help he can get, because with frozen fingers chances are that “the accident-prone boy can cut himself”. Salt in the wounds if you’ve ever heard of it. Mother isn’t too good in dealing with matters as such on an empty stomach, but has no choice. Johannes’s girlfriend believes meat is grown in vacuum-packed units more or less like pop in a can, picks Bambi as her favorite animation and the rest of the possible helpers study for exams later this day.

Anyhow, our triumphant hero tolerates no excuses from the nauseous Mother who after the skinning assists him in getting the hundred-and-fifty pounder onto his shoulders.  White as the blowing snow, she gathers the blanket, chair, flask, jackets, gun and staggers behind Johannes-hunter through the bush; alongside the winter wheat, over the uneven field, underneath the clutching apples trees towards the car looking like a huge heap of cream.

Humor, says the dictionary, is “the ability to perceive what is comical, ridiculous, or ludicrous in a situation or character, and to express it in a way that others see or feel the same thing.”

The end.