“It’s dark down there,” Carlo added, his eyes widening in apprehension, either because he was terrified at the idea of going down those basement steps into a dark unknown, or because he was afraid I wouldn’t be brave enough to descend into the abyss in search of food.
Heading down into a damp and probably spider-filled basement was something I wasn’t eager to do, but needs must rule timidity, as Mr. Stimms, the blacksmith used to tell me whenever I flinched at the way he enflamed his forge with an air-blowing bellow.
I opened the door and, holding onto the wall, crept down into the bowels of a very unpleasant-smelling basement. Through the light from the door, with two scared little boys peering down at me, I could see a wall with some jars of food. I grabbed up a few, slid them into my ever present backpack, and climbed back up the stairs. I had no idea what I’d managed to find. I’d only see once I was back into the light.
At the top of the stairs, the boys were half-salivating at the prospect of food. “What did you find?” they asked.
I walked over to the table and pulled out the jars, one by one. I didn’t know when someone had canned these items. I worried about botulism, but as I questioned the boys, they told me that their mom had recently cooked and preserved fruits from the orchard’s trees.