...of a gossiper

What was it you saw Grandmother?
she leaned over even closer glanced quickly towards the lame man, the card players till busy throwing their cards noisily on the table: Jesus she said. Jesus. Christ. But he’s a sly one.
over the top of the stove I looked at him he winked at me again I know I said He’s the slyest one of all Where is he?
On the road
Yes? How did he look?
He had his beard she said And a staff
I saw him too I said
He always has his staff He wanted to beat me
God damn it, the lame man shouted turning round Aren’t you through telling your lies yet Why don’t you go to bed
Christ the old woman said. The soldiers round the table burst out laughing, for a moment the old woman sat still watching the lame man waiting for him to pick up his cards huddled crouching over her bench her little faded red-rimmed eyes shining with a wicked hostile gleam, Cuckold! she said, (still talking between her teeth, still mumbling:) They’re nasty I’m all alone, repeating Cuckold! and again Cuckold! but they had started playing again, she glanced at me triumphantly leaned toward me again, Chased him away with his rifle, she said. Took his gun but he’s a cuckold all the same. I looked at him again over the top of the stove and he winked at me again
Didn’t matter if he locked her in her room she said with a giggle She leaned further nudged me with her elbow her little cadaver’s eyes with their yellowish ooze laughing silently But there’s more than one key she said
What
More than one key
What are you talking about now, the lame man screamed Go to bed! She started suddenly moved away huddled in silence at the other end of the bench still making gestures signals grimacing her eyes still staring at me raising her eyebrows while her silent mouth formed the words saying soundlessly Nasty, Nasty, twisting her hideous goat face)…

[The Flanders Road, Simon, C.]