He was said to bring happiness to anyone who tasted it.
Ethel was driving home from her country cottage late in the evening. She had deliberately set out after dusk, letting her car crawl along the longest route the outer ring road that skirted the towns. If she didnt have to work the next day, she would have simply stayed overnight among the hedgerows.
Why was she lingering? Because she had no desire to go back inside at all especially not to see her husband, George. A quiet voice inside her had long warned that the roof under which they lived together would not shelter them for much longer. Their marriage had become chilly, jittery, erupting into arguments at the slightest spark.
She stared out at the dark, the road stretching ahead, while her thoughts swirled around the strange, absurd state of their union. At one bend the ring road slipped through a tiny village. Ethel eased off the accelerator, and in the glow of her headlights she saw a peculiar old woman by the bus stop, clutching something wrapped in a cloth, pressed to her chest as if it were a newborn. The woman gazed at the approaching cars with such hopeful expectation that Ethel instinctively pressed the brakes.
She stopped, stepped out, and hurried to the woman. As she drew nearer, a little wheeled basket lay at the elderly ladys feet.
Why are you standing here? Ethel asked, uneasy. Do you need help? What are you holding, a child?
A child? the woman blushed, embarrassed. No, its not a child its a loaf.
A loaf? Ethels eyebrows rose. What kind of loaf?
Homebaked straight from the oven Im selling it.
How can you be selling it? Where do you get it?
I bake it myself. My pension is meagre, so I supplement it when moneys short. Some folks buy it; they say it brings happiness.
Happiness, you say?
Im not sure. One man keeps telling me that. He buys a loaf every time, insists it makes him happy. Maybe today it will work for you as well. Would you like a fresh one?
Ethel sensed the womans desperation for cash and nodded. Yes, Id like a loaf. How much?
One pound, the old lady said tentatively, watching Ethels reaction. Is that too much?
How many loaves do you have?
Ten. No ones bought any yet; I just arrived. How many do you need?
Ill take them all, Ethel declared, then turned for her car to fetch the money.
No! I wont give them all away! the woman cried, alarmed.
Why not? Ethel asked, baffled.
Because I know youre buying not for the bread but to help me. What if someone else needs it? What if that man returns and Im left emptyhanded?
Ethel felt a strange, childlike pity rise within her.
Alright then. How many will you sell?
Five loaves the woman whispered, uncertain.
Could you maybe give more?
No that isnt right, the old lady shook her head. Youre buying out of pity. This bread is for eating, straight from the oven.
Fine, Ethel smiled, fetched a few notes and a bag, tucked five stillwarm loaves inside, and returned to her car.
A minute later she was back on the road, and the intoxicating scent of fresh bread flooded the cabin. It overwhelmed her, and she ripped off a generous slice, tucked it into her mouth, and realized she had never tasted anything so exquisite.
Her mobile rang. She frowned at the caller ID, lifted the phone, and heard Georges irritable voice.
Ethel, pop into a shop and bring some bread home, he barked.
What? Ethel glanced at the loaves piled on the passenger seat. Why now?
Because weve run out! Not a crumb left. And, as if on purpose, your friends have turned up!
Friends? What friends? Its nearly midnight.
Youll have to ask them yourself. Anyway, get the bread. Your three university mates have set themselves up in our kitchen, sipping tea, waiting for you.
Good grief Ethel slammed her foot down on the accelerator.
She arrived home half an hour later, the absurd aroma trailing behind her like a ghost.
Ethel, you smell wonderful! shouted the three womenMolly, Clare and Jennawho had been her companions at university. They lunged for embraces.
George, detecting the heavenly scent, snatched a chunk of the oldwomans bread from Ethels bag, tore off almost half a loaf, pressed it to his nose, and stared at her in astonishment.
Where did you get such magnificent bread?
Where it was sold, its gone now, she shrugged.
He retreated with his bite to his bedroom, while Ethel lingered in the kitchen with the friends. They lingered until midnight, drinking wine, nibbling the uncanny bread, venting about their husbands, even shedding a few tears over the realization that their marriages were not the fairytale dreams they once imagined. As they said goodbye, Ethel handed each a fresh slice of the grandmothers loaf.
The hostess closed the door behind them, slipped past Georges sleeping form, and curled up on the livingroom sofa to sleep.
Morning brought odd miracles. As she stirred, George perched on the sofa, his tone oddly ironic.
Ethel, I think I overindulged in your bread yesterday and had a revelation. Were both fools.
What? she blinked, halfasleep.
Were fools, darling. We must change. Im taking you out tonight, to the restaurant where I proposed.
Why?
Because I want to try to fix what we have. Ill be at six. Come.
He left, and the morning seemed different, as if the world had swapped its autumn grey for the fresh light of early spring. Ethel found herself waiting for that strange evening date.
The phone rang again. One of the friends, breathless with emotion, exclaimed, Ethel, can you believe it? We made up with our men last night! We were about to divorce, and then we ate your bread until three in the morning and everything fell back into place. Thank you, love!
Me? What about me? Ethel stammered.
Later, the other two called, each reporting that everything at home had miraculously sorted itself out, and they regretted how theyd treated their spouses.
Feeling oddly uplifted, Ethel went to the kitchen, pulled the halfeaten loaf from the breadbox, inhaled its fragrance again, and took a small piece. This time the taste carried a subtle hint of something beyond wheata gentle aftertaste of love, a love that seemed to spill over to everyone around her.
