In my family for as long as I can remember, there has been an atmosphere of mystery, like a hidden secret. The whispers between my parents, my grandparents and my uncle Alberto when he came to visit. Suddenly falling silent, surprised by a door opened unwisely or innocently by me or my siblings. Sometimes we surprised my grandmother Marta, with her eyes red from crying so much. And when we asked her what was wrong, she always answered "That's dust allergy, my children, that annoying allergy that makes my eyes itch". Those were some indications that they didn't want us to know about something... a matter of importance.
As the years went by, that secrecy diminished and what intrigued us became lost in childhood memories as we grew up. My brother, Jose Angel, had graduated as a commercial aviation pilot. My sister Judith was a merchant and owned an antique store. Both were single. I, whose passion was cooking, had married Humberto, and we had started a business of our own, a small German food place, following the roots of Humberto's and my family.
On the weekend, we had a family reunion planned to celebrate my grandmother's birthday, who had reached her hundredth birthday. My grandfather Alberto had died last year. The old house was in celebration. The birch trees that my grandfather had planted by the roadside, which reminded him of his homeland, leaned in the wind as if welcoming us. The surrounding garden was full of orange blossom bushes, with their fragrant white flowers, beautiful yellow, pink and orange dahlias in the center of the planters. The warmth of summer could be felt. The thick, freshly polished wooden door gave the house a stately air. As we entered with Humberto, the other members of the family were already seated in the main living room of the house, where there was large wooden furniture and a table in the center. The walls were adorned with family photographs. My mother stood up to welcome us.
"Hello Bertha!, Hello Humberto! How was your trip?"
Her large figure of almost two meters tall and her gray eyes were imposing, in addition to her thick tone of voice, with that dominant way of speaking, she came up to give us a hug. She was not a very affectionate woman, but she was very attentive. My father Juan Carlos, of Basque origin, compensated the demonstrations of affection and was a very funny man and made us laugh a lot.
"Very nice mommy, the landscape up to here is very beautiful in spite of the curves".
After greeting each other, we gathered in the dining room for dinner. My grandmother had asked for a simple dinner, as she remembered from her youth in the countryside. I prepared her a dish of sour cabbage or sauerkraut accompanied by kasseler, a cut of pork, and potato salad. We all ate with great appetite, but as we did so my grandmother looked at us one by one, with a smile on her lips and almost didn't eat, it was as if she was remembering a past scene. After eating my mother went to the kitchen and brought the cake, she had prepared a blackberry streusel for him, it looked delicious with its grainy coating combined with the red of the fruit, sweet and crunchy.
"This is Jonas' favorite dessert, he loves it, where is he?, because he hasn't arrived yet?" and he was looking at us all with his sweet blue eyes. His long white hair, fell to one side in a braid.
"Who is Jonas", I thought and looked at my brothers who responded with a lift of their shoulders. My parents and my uncle looked at each other nervously.
"Maria, do you know where he is", she asked my mother.
"Mother stay calm, I'll serve you a piece of cake", she had grabbed the knife and began to cut it.
"What do you mean mother!, I am not your mother and tell me where my brother is."
This confession of my grandmother was the secret of my family. When dinner was over, my brothers and sisters decided to talk to my parents and my uncle, they had to explain to us what had happened with Jonas.
My mother said "My uncle Jonas was in the German army in World War II, even though he didn't agree with it, but he was the only boy in the family and was forced to join. He felt a great pang of conscience and when the war ended, he hid from everyone, it was never known what became of his life. My mother adored him and suffered a lot when she didn't see him anymore. We tried to find out his whereabouts, we even hired a private detective, but it was not possible".
That night I went to bed thinking about Jonas and I woke up very early and went to my grandmother's room, I wanted to know more about that story. I found her still in bed but awake, she looked very calm.
"Hello grandma, how do you wake up?" I blessed and gave her a kiss on her forehead.
I sat on the bed and told her "I want to know more about Jonas". I was rash, I don't know, but my grandmother was glad I asked her.
"Jonas showed up and visited me all these years, I didn't say anything to your parents, only your grandfather and I knew about it. Back there in the house, there is a secret", and he looked at me with his beautiful blue eyes.
"What secret grandmother!" I couldn't wait for her to tell me, my curiosity was at its limit.
"And what day is it today!, I have to get up to water the dahlias, come on" Bertha help me and taking the blanket off me, she moved her legs to one side of the bed and grabbed my hands.
I helped her and did not want to insist.
In the afternoon when everything was quiet, it was time for a nap, I talked to my brothers and sisters and told them what grandma had told me.
"I think we should investigate", Jose Angel thought it was all very exciting.
"Well, let's go behind the house before they wake up!, Judith took her phone, and together we walked along a dirt path with blackberries on both sides, we had to be careful not to break on the thorns. At the end was my grandfather's tool shed, the door was fastened with a hook and we opened it.
Inside it was dark, and the light was filtering through the slits in the slats in the walls. In the center was a large table where my grandfather did carpentry work. On the walls were strips of wood of different types: brown, pine, oak, chestnut, each with different colored grains. And tools were everywhere. Cobwebs on the ceiling and walls. I think that since my grandfather's death, no one had entered here.
"Look for something strange, what my grandmother meant by the secret. She said her brother used to visit her, there must be somewhere he was hiding".
"There is not much room here to hide". Jose Angel examined the place. "Let's move the table".
Between the three of us we made a great effort, the wooden floor was uncovered and dust and sawdust covered it.
Look" said Judith, as she lifted the board with the tip of her shoe. What if that loose board was actually a hidden passageway"
As we lifted the board, we could see stairs leading to a room. We went down there, José Ángel first and me last. When we got downstairs and turned on the light bulb, we were amazed at what we saw.
They had built a small but comfortable room with a bathroom. There was a dark wooden bed with a yellow and blue bedspread. On the small table there was a lamp and on it some books. Also, a small shelf with many books, the author of which was Jonas. During all the years he spent living there, he was able to write anonymously and with the help of my grandparents. He wrote about the war, how terrible is the death of man by man. We don't know how many years he was there.
When we checked the books, there was one dated only ten years ago. In other words.
If Jonas was a few years older than my grandmother, being the older brother, he would be an old man at that point. That was a bit strange.
We arrived at the house and told everything we had seen. My parents were astonished, but my uncle Alberto didn't even flinch. At that moment, he told us that about twenty years ago he had met Jonah and Jonah asked him not to tell anyone, but that he wanted to be close to his sister. It occurred to me that the hidden room in the house would be a good place for him to be. There he began to write, and I helped him for all these years until his death. His body is buried very close to this house. I wrote the last book in his name.
Thus, the mystery of the family was solved.
Thank you very much for reading my participation in The Ink Well Fiction Prompt #109
Translated in https://www.deepl.com