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Abigail told her parents she would buy by herself the paper to make the flowers. Will was a bit frightened a girl so little would cross alone the four streets of distance which separate them of the nearest paper shop. He thought about the cars going across the streets at full speed, the bicycles which didn’t respect the walkers… Hannibal’s voice managed to calm the young man. He lent Abigail his mobile phone and told her that, if there was any trouble, she should phone them home.
“Winston will act as my guardian.” The girl said while Will fastened the golden carabiner of the leash to the ring of the dog’s collar.
The girl put in her coat’s pocket the banknotes Will had just given her, a piece of paper in which were written the things they needed and the phone, took Winston’s lash, kissed her parents and crossed the mansion’s door. She breathed deeply before going to the bottom of the stair. Abigail and Winston went across the little path, then, through the fence and arrived at the street.
“Here we go!” She thought when their adventure started.
They started walking on the sidewalk. From time to time, Winston stopped to sniff the floor or the plants which grew on the grass at both sides of the path.
“Dogs recognise things by smell.” Papa Will had told her. “A walk means many new smells for Winston.”
Abigail smiled when she remembered it. When they arrived at the stationery shop, she tied Winston’s leash to the door’s handle and entered the establishment.
“Hello, little one.” The shop assistant said. “How can I help you?”
Abigail took her list from her pocket and gave it to him.
“Let’s see.” The assistant pointed, putting on his glasses. “coloured silk paper, flexible wire, glue and paper ribbons. Which colours did you want?”
She thought about Will’s blue eyes, Hannibal’s silvered hair and her own brunette braids while the assistant got a collection of samples with all the shades he got. It was then when Abigail discovered many colours she had never seen.
“For daddy Han, all the greens.” She thought. “For daddy Will, red, pink and all the blues. Oh, yes! For Winston, blue and pink. And for me, purple, green and yellow. That’s it!”
She asked the shop assistant the shades she had chosen, and he gave them to her along with the rest of the elements in the list in a big brown paper bag with string handles. The girl paid for the material, went off the shop and untied Winston’s leash, who was waggling his tail in a bored fashion.
“Patience, doggie.” She said scratching his ears. “We’ll arrive home in a jiffy.”
And both set up the way. When they got home, Abigail found her parents in the kitchen. Hannibal was placing in the oven a big squared platter while Will put in the dishwasher the dirty cutlery.
“Hello, mylimoji!” Hannibal whispered before kissing her forehead. “How was your adventure with Winston?”
“It was good. I think we have all the things in the list. Now I can start making the crowns for the Spring party.”
Will smiled when he heard her daughter.
“But, first, we must have lunch.” The young man said. “Abigail, start to set the hall’s table while papa Han and I finish.”
So, the girl took the tablecloth from the cupboard’s drawer. She placed it, still folded, on the table before taking off the big dark blue glass vase full of dry flowers which decorated the piece of furniture. He unfolded the tablecloth on the whole surface of the table and returned to the kitchen, where Hannibal was taking the platter from the oven. Once Abigail had placed the plates, the cutlery and the cups, Hannibal added a big, thick cork plate, where he placed the cannelloni platter. Will finished the task by taking a metallic water jug and a Chianti bottle.
The Lecter-Grahams started eating in silence after Hannibal had served the pasta in the plates. Lunch past with no distress. Abigail, enthusiastic, didn’t stop talking about the party of the next day and how she would do the crowns for all three of them that afternoon.
“Now, eat.” Hannibal whispered smiling. “Your cannelloni are going to get cold.”
So Abigail took her fork and divided a portion from her plate. When they finished, Abigail returned to her room with Winston and the stationery bag while his parents cleaned up the table and organised the kitchen.
“Will, please. Write on the whiteboard we need some sugar.”
The young man took the marker and got nearer to the board. He hugged his husband from behind when he saw what was written: “Everything is going to be alright. Aš tave myliu[1].
A few hours later, the kitchen table was full of paper and cloth cuttings and empty wire bobbins. Abigail had nearly finished the last crown, which contained all the greens she had found. She hanged the crowns from the back of one of the chairs before picking up the tiny papers, scattered everywhere.
“Done!” She thought while she went upstairs with the crowns on her hand. Winston was with her, smelling her skirt.
When they arrived at the bedroom, Abigail placed the crowns on the shelf and sat on the carpet, where Winston had lied down. She started to scratch his ears and the dog, thanked, licked her hands. Will knocked on her daughter’s door.
“We are going to make a pastry for tomorrow’s picnic. Can you help us?”
Abigail nodded and took her father’s hand.
“What are the kitchen’s rules?” Hannibal asked her when she entered the kitchen.
“In the kitchen, be careful and always someone older at your side. And… Before cooking, put on your apron and wash your hands.”
Will smiled at her daughter.
“Let’s get on with it!”
And while Abigail washed her hands on the sink, Will and Hannibal placed the ingredients on the counter. Already outfitted themselves with their white cotton aprons, they placed a stool so the girl could reach the surface.
“Here I go!” Abigail said while she weighed the flour in the electronic weighing scale.
Will brought four eggs to a boil and Hannibal placed the flour and the lard in a big bowl before Abigail started to mix everything with her hands. Hannibal smiled when he saw her.
“That is.” He encouraged her. “Mix it hard. It must be a good paste.”
When the dough was ready, Will dusted flour on the countertop and Hannibal spread it.
“Perfect. While it rests, we are going to get the stuffing ready.” Will said, opening the fridge.
He peeled the already cold hard-boiled eggs and took a can of peppers and a piece of fish from the fridge, which Abigail chopped with the aid of a pair of scissors. She bonded everything with a cup of fried tomato and, when everything was ready, Hannibal closed the pastry and, after painting it with beaten egg, he placed it in the oven.
“It will take an hour to be ready.” Said Will.
“In that case…” Abigail whispered, pensive. “I am going to take a stroll in the garden with Winston.”
She put on her coat and both went outside the house. They were playing until it got dark and Abigail decided to get in again. The hall’s fireplace was lit, and her parents talked sat on the sofa.
“Mylimoji?” Hannibal said.
Abigail sat between her parents, who kissed her. Some minutes later, Will stood up and took the pastry from the oven. He placed it on the kitchen’s table to get colder, covered with a cotton dish towel.
And Abigail repeated step by step the past morning ritual. When the table was set, the Lecter-Grahams sat down. In a little auxiliary table was a big ham leg.
“Jamón ibérico.” Said Hannibal, standing up and starting to share the meat. “Try it, Abigail.”
The psychiatrist aligned the thin jamón shares in a big glass platter, which got nearer to her daughter. She placed the container on the table before putting some jamón on her plate. When she tasted it, she wasn’t very convinced if she had liked it. It had a dry and fibrous texture, with a very salty flavour.
“Don’t you like it?” Will asked her when he saw the girl’s face. She shook her head.
Hannibal smiled.
“Well, we will try in another time, mano mylimoji.” He whispered. “I’ll get the pastry.”
So, Hannibal stood up and went to the kitchen. He cut three portions of the cold pastry and he served them in dishes, which he placed on the table before sitting down and start to eat. His husband and his daughter accompanied him. When dinner was finished, Hannibal served three cups of tea from the samovar and put a cube of sugar in each one.
“Now…” Will said when he had emptied his cup. “… A good bath and to bed.”
While Hannibal filled the bathtub, Will went with Abigail to her bedroom, where he helped her to take off her clothes. Once naked, the young man wrapped her in a big white towel and took her in his arms to the bathroom, where he placed her in the water.
“Stay here for a while.” Hannibal said, placing the towel over the washbasin. “Close your eyes. We will return now.”
Hannibal and Will returned to the hall and took the dinner tableware to the kitchen. When everything was placed in the dishwasher, they came back to the bathroom. Abigail had sat on the bathtub’s edge and roared with laughter seeing how Winston drank the soapy water inside.
“What on earth…!” The psychiatrist said, knitting his brows. “What has happened here?”
“Seems Winston is thirsty.” Abigail answered, petting his back and covering it with foam.
At last, Hannibal and Will couldn’t control their laughter. And, between guffaws, they took the girl from the bathtub and dried her with the towel before putting her nightdress on her.
“Put your arms around my neck, mano mylimoji.”
Abigail obeyed and they went to the bedroom, where they put Abigail to sleep.
“Good night, papa Han. Good night, papa Will.” She whispered while she closed her eyes.
At last the picnic day came. And what a day! The sun shone, but it wasn’t hot, because a soft breeze shook Baltimore’s trees.
Will woke up Abigail and helped her to get dressed. Then, he combed her, tying her hair in two long braids fastened with green satin ribbons.
“Done.” The young man said, kissing her daughter’s forehead. “Let’s get some breakfast.”
While they went down, Hannibal, still dressed in his black silk dressing gown, finished making breakfast downstairs.
“Benedictine Eggs.” He sentenced while placing the already served dishes on the table. “It is said it was invented by the cooks at Delmonico’s in New York in 1860, when the confectionery turned into a restaurant. Come on, Abigail, try them.”
The girl took her fork and cut her portion, spilling the egg yolk in the dish. Will put a pinch of salt in his ration and also started eating. When they finished, Hannibal cleaned up the dishes while Abigail went upstairs to her bedroom. She came back with a white cloth bag in her hands, which contained the paper flower crowns.
“Now is our turn to dress.” Said Will, caressing Abigail’s cheeks. “Fetch the dogs.”
The girl went out to the garden. Her pets ran to the door the minute they saw her out.
“Hello, guys!” She exclaimed, trying to pet them. “Hello! We are going to the park.”
So, Will and Hannibal came out the house and got the dogs onto the car’s trunk. Abigail was sitting at the back, with her treasured white paper bag on her lap. The food basket was beside her, held with the seatbelt. After some moments of silence, Abigail started to sing:
“Let's sing a gay little spring song
This is the season to sing
So I'd like to suggest
That we all do our best
And warble a song about spring
Spring, spring, spring
Let's get together and sing.”
Will looked back and smiled at his daughter. A quarter of hour later, they had arrived at the park. Hannibal stopped the car and helped Abigail to get off while Will took the dogs and the food basket, in which was a big red, white, brown and black tartan blanket. Abigail and Hannibal unfolded the blanket, in which Will started to place the recipients with the lunch: the big pastry, a thermos with fruit juice for Abigail, a white wine bottle, a dish with cheese and crackers and a steel container with potato salad. Hannibal distributed dishes and cutlery and uncorked the wine bottle before serving his husband’s and daughter’s dishes. Instants later, they started to eat. The three of them chatted while Winston smelled the grass looking for crumbs.
“Patience, doggie.” Abigail said to it. “We will play the moment I finish.”
The animal lied down beside the blanket, waving its tail with a bored manner. Abigail helped herself another glass of juice and considered her lunch had finished. She stood up and started to run. Winston followed her, barking. Will took a book from the basket and he started to read aloud:
“Tempus est iocundum
o virgines,
modo congaudete, vos iuvenes
O o totus floreo
iam amore virginali, totus ardeo
novus novus amor, est quo pereo
Cantat philomena, sic dulciter
et modulans auditur: intus caleo
Flos est puellarum, quam diligo
et rosa rosarum, quam sepe video
Tua me confortat promisio
tua me deportat negatio
Tua mecum ludit virginitas
tua me detrudit simplicitas
Sile, philomena, pro tempore
surge cantilena de pectore
Tempore brumali vir patiens
animo vernali lasciviens
Veni, domicella cum gaudio
veni, veni bella iam pereo.”[2]
While her father recited, Abigail had started to give the dogs their paper crowns. She continued with Will’s, but she didn’t have given his to Hannibal, who had fallen placidly asleep on his husband’s shoulder, spellbound by the young man’s sweet voice. Will smiled and hushed her daughter very softly.
“They are beautiful, Abby.” He whispered. “Thank you. Now, give his to papa Han. Carefully, don’t you wake him up.”
And so did Abigail, who smiled when she saw the scene. The people she loved more in the world were beside her. Back were the bad memories and sadness. The girl couldn’t repress some tears, which Will wiped off with his handkerchief. Both snuggled in the blanket and closed their eyes. Abigail felt the heat from their bodies. Just before she closed her eyes, she thought:
“This is happiness.”
THE END
[1] Lithuanian for “I love you”.
[2] It’s joy time,/ Girls/ Have fun now, boys!/ I am exultant/ I am on fire of love for the girls/ I am dying for having a new love/ The dove sings, so softly/ And rhythmical you can hear it: I feel I am burning of love inside/ I love the most beautiful of girls/ Always, the most beautiful of roses/ Your promise comforts me/ Your rejection hurts me/ Play with me, maidens/ My simplicity preserves me/ Hush, dove, in time/ A song emerges from the heart/ During the fogs season, man suffers/ In spring, he falls in love/ Come, doll, with gayness/ Come, come, beautiful, because I am dying of love. (Codex Buranus AKA Carmina Burana #179 (Anonymus from the 13th Century))