A short story about bread

 The morning after the lockdown announcement, I got a phone call from my boss:

 

 

 

“Hi, I'm guessing you’ve heard the news. Truth is, I’m not sure what’s going to happen with your position. I know you can’t work at home, but we can’t risk you coming in during a pandemic. We’ll keep you updated. Take it easy.” 

 

 

 

My partner Isaac still worked his long shifts at work which were deemed essential so I was left alone most days. 

 

At first, I didn’t mind being alone too much. I spent my extra time catching up on tv shows and reading books I wasn’t able to finish before lockdown but very quickly the novelty of it all faded. My mind started to dissect everything I did: the tv just became moving pixels on a screen, books just became words on a page. The house began to morph into a realm of hostility: the cold floor boards, the black mould adorning the bathroom walls, the rusty taps that made an awful shriek when you turned them on. I was trapped here. I began to find the oppressive atmosphere too much to bear.

 Every day was devoid of purpose and structure to the point that time felt thick, stagnant, like being suspended in a waking dream. It was a perpetual cycle of waking up in the same grey bedroom stuck within the same four walls and hoping that things had returned to some vain normality. I was in an arid, affectless purgatory spending each hour walking around in circles, watching the dust settle on the window sill, tracing the patterns of the wood table, wading through life like thick mud, waiting to go back to sleep again. 

 

 

 

It was when I made my first trip to the supermarket I realised how dystopian things had become.

The world was eerily unrecognizable. 

In the endless aisles of empty shelves, clamours of panicked, masked people pushed each other out of the way so that they could be the first to fill their trolleys with toilet paper. I felt as though I was in a zoo witnessing some sort of depraved territorial war in a chimpanzee enclosure. Despite warnings of a highly contagious virus, these people disregarded polite conventions to keep their distance and instead allowed their panic and ruthlessness to take hold. 

 

After making my way past each barren shelf the realisation struck me.

 

 

 

There was no bread. 

 

 

 

In almost every formation of every civilisation in the world, there was bread.

 

I read a book once which explained that bread had formed the basis of societal structures and had the power to overthrow governments. The word lord comes from the term “loaf ward” which described the medieval men who guarded and distributed bread to show generosity and maintain social order. Bread is important. 

 

 

 

Isaac came back home from his shift that night to see that I was filling the kitchen cabinets with the flour and yeast supply from the five supermarkets I visited that day.

 

“Did you buy anything else?” I watched his eyes darting from flour bag to flour bag in dumb bewilderment.

 

“Just flour and yeast. There was no bread.”I replied. 

 

“The supermarket shelves were the emptiest I’ve ever seen them and people were going nuts. I’m not taking any chances.”

 

Isaac raised his eyebrows and trudged up the stairs. 

 

Of course, he wouldn’t understand.

 

 

 

The next morning I began to bake. I dusted off the old recipe book my grandmother gave me and after putting the measured ingredients together and mixing I took the sticky concoction out of the bowl, pushing the heels of my hands into it. As I kneaded, my mind suddenly felt clear as though the dough absorbed all my confusion, doubt and frustration. The dense fog clouding my thoughts had shifted, and it was just my bread and me. My lost job, my lack of financial security, my loneliness, my grief: all those worries had dissipated. I was at peace. 

 

 

 

I sat on the floor watching my bread grow in the oven. It emitted golden hues as it rose and filled the house with its warm aroma. 

 

When Isaac came home I was beaming with pride. It may have been small, but I had put my time and care into making something: a part of me was in that loaf and there it was on the kitchen counter in all its glory.

 

“Isaac” I called and waited for him in the kitchen.

 

He looked around confused for a moment, and I signalled to the bread with eyes.

 

“Oh, nice,” he replied sticking his head into the fridge. 

 

“Do you want me to cut some off for you?”

 

“I’m fine I’m just about to heat something up,” he said, without turning to look at me.

 

 

 

I couldn’t sleep that night. I laid awake, staring at the ceiling as my thoughts descended into worry and catastrophe again. I hadn’t had a full conversation with Isaac in about 2 weeks. He had become a stranger, and I was fully and utterly isolated.

 

When it got to three in the morning, I went back downstairs and started baking. 

 

I pressed my hands into the warm dough, feeling a gush of euphoria as its welcoming flesh consumed all my negative emotions. I knew that making something beautiful eased my turmoil and it was the closest I could get to serenity. I stayed up baking the following night and the night after that. 

 

Isaac never noticed: I waited until he was asleep and his breathing became heavy. I slipped downstairs and baked until 5:30, 20 minutes before he got up for work and got back into bed as if nothing happened.

 

Despite not sleeping for days on end, I never felt tired once, I felt more energised than I had ever been in my life. Baking replaced my need for sleep.

 

 

 

After I had turned the pages of Grandma’s book, there was one more bread recipe left: sourdough. The recipe instructed me to make a paste from flour and water to cultivate wild yeast.

 

I found a little jar mixed in some tepid water and flour and named her Lilith, after my late Grandmother.

 

 

 

Lilith needed feeding morning and night so that she was happy and nourished. She would tell me when she was hungry when she sank down in her jar and would bubble up again when she was full. As the nights went by, I began to speak to Lilith telling her my frustrations with Isaac, how hard it was being alone, how I was struggling with money, how my life seemed to be lacking purpose after I lost my job. I had a purpose now. I had Lilith to take care of. Lilith always listened to me. Sometimes I would say something and she would bubble up a little like she was showing that she understood. 

 

 

 

It had been seven days since I last slept and Isaac came up to me and asked, “Can you pop to the shops? We’re running out of flour.”

 

My chest surged with joy. I was so ecstatic that I didn’t even take into account that we already had heaps of flour in the cupboards. But I didn't care. This meant he liked my bread. 

 

“Of course,” I said, barely concealing my delight.

 

 

 

As soon as I came home and got through the door, Isaac came right up to me as if he were in a hurry. “Here let me take this from you” He hurried back into the kitchen before returning to the hallway crossing his arms and blocking the entrance to the kitchen. 

 

“So how was the supermarket? Was there still chaos in there?" He laughed anxiously.

 

Something was wrong. I pushed past him to get into the kitchen.

 

 

 

It was all gone. Everything I had made, the flour, the yeast, the bread pans, everything. All that I poured my energy into the last month was gone. Even Lilith.

 

“Listen before you say anything I know that you haven’t been well.” Isaac held out his palms in defence" I know I haven’t been at home much, so I don’t know exactly what’s been going on but you’ve been talking to people that aren’t there at night, you haven’t changed your clothes or washed for like 3 weeks. I can’t live with you when there’s no proper food in this house. I have to work, and you just sit in the house all day baking, you don’t know how hard it is. ”

 

 The heat rose to my cheeks as the anger churned in my chest. I wanted to scream but I didn’t.

I stopped myself from shaking, unclenched my fists and took a deep breath. I marched over to the bin, pouring its contents all over the floor. 

 

“What are you-”

 

“Where is she?"

 

As soon as I spoke, the sound of glass shattering pierced the tense air. Lilith overgrown her jar and slid her now eight foot body across the kitchen tiles. Isaac saw the perplexed expression on my face and looked around confused for a moment before his eyes widened with terror as Lilith climbed up Isaac’s leg from behind him, coiling her glutinous arm around his neck. Isaac, paralysed with fear, gasped for air as Lilith tightened her grip around his throat. I watched the veins protrude from his forehead as his complexion deepened to a deep red. I gazed into his eyes as he struggled to take another breath, watching his expression of panic fade as his eyes became vacant and he collapsed to the floor. 

 

I looked at Lilith and smiled. 

 

“Thank you.”

 

I switched on the oven and set to work.