True stories – Value of the Salt
When I was a kid and my grandma was still alive, my parents often left me to stay in her care. Naturally a grandmother always thinks her grandchild has not eaten enough, so she cooked and baked a lot for me when I was with her. Once, when she was making meat soup, she licked the salt. She kept the salt in a small aluminium box and that was where she sometimes took some from and sprinkled it into the soup too. I noticed her secret movement and, as a child, I happened to tell her something like this, “Yack, granny, you lick the salt?” She nodded quietly and then said, “I’ll tell you a story. When I was a little kid like yourself, a war was going on, and we were forced to stay in the cellar because of the bombings by the German aeroplanes.
We were not allowed to light any light at night for fear they might provide a target for the enemy.
Only on very rare occasions were we allowed up to receive a little sunshine in order to avoid rickets. During one such festive occasion, when my brother and I were playing above ground, during a break between bombings, we found a little aluminium box.
When we opened it, we found a paper bag in it, with the word ‘salt’ on it. In those times salt was still a great treasure so we hid it among the ruins, and when we were around, we always ate a teaspoonful of it. It had some heavenly taste, and also, we missed it after so much tasteless porridge. By the time we ran out of the salt from the little box, the war had also ended, and I believe it was the strength of that salt that had helped me keep going when the bombs had been falling. I’ve kept the little box as a memento and have kept the salt in it to remind me.”
“And what would you like to be reminded of, grandma?” I asked.
“Of how great a blessing it is that we have something to salt with it every day and I don’t have to starve any more,” she replied with eyes brimming with tears, and, with her wrinkled hands, she stroke the lid of the little box.
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