A Table Set For Three-By Dibyasree Nandy

Louis entered the store with a shopping list in hand. The owner, a kind old gentleman, smiled at the bespectacled young man.

“Ah, running low on supplies, are you?”

“Yes.” Louis nodded as passed the list to the owner whose face fell. The boy was buying for three, again.

“Louis,” the owner began, “this must end,” his face very grave, he continued, “I cannot sell this much.”

He had known Louis since he was a child; sensitive, delicate; such a sweet little thing. Often, he had offered, “Come stay with me and the Missus, Louis, we’d be delighted.” But the young man had invariably declined, politely stating, “They love my cooking, Sir.”

“Why not?” Louis tilted his head, a gesture reminiscent of his childhood days of joy, “I have to cook for three, don’t I?”

The owner flinched at the boy’s innocent, guileless expression.

Clutching a large bag, the eighteen-year-old Louis pushed open the door to the sombre manor at the edge of the moor with one shoulder. Inside, he was greeted by the loud, cheery silence. He thought he could hear the ricocheting reverberations of the lost voices of his brothers,

“Louis, your pancakes are the best! Where would we be without you, baby Lu?”

“This isn’t our home, Louis is. And his cooking. Always waiting to welcome us!”

They weren’t just his brethren, but parental figures too, being much older, raising him, the three living on their own.

While chopping vegetables, recollections sometimes whispered, sometimes echoed.

“Big Brother, this place is my domain! Stay away! You are a walking disaster in the kitchen!”

“Keep your hands off the Christmas pudding, Little Big Brother! It’s not done yet!”

“You’re too strict on us, Louis!”

All of a sudden, he felt the need to wipe his glasses.

Louis liked the silence. It protected him and did not allow days of happiness to slip past while it spoke to him all the time.

“Look, Louis, I got this book for you!”

“You need to get to bed early, Louis!”

“How was college today?”

“Want me to help you with lessons, Lu?”

“Tonight, I’ll interchange your spots at the dinner table.” Louis was busily setting the table for three, “Sorry, but I don’t think I can provide dessert this evening, though. The old grandpa refused to sell me the flour needed for all three of us. I didn’t want to eat alone.”

Louis gazed out of the window and sighed.

“Oh? A storm? I detest thunder. So desolate, lonely, quiet. The stillness stifles me, makes me forget, tries to make me remember… I hate it… Help me, please…”

A whimper escaped his throat. He fell to the floor, twitching.

The old gentleman was returning home after closing shop; the downpour hadn’t begun yet. He passed by the cemetery and stood in front of two destroyed graves, the names hardly visible.

“Which is better for Louis? To recall everything? Or to live without ever remembering anything? You raised him well, too well for my liking.