How My Babcia Pronounces Cthulhu

Scholars will fight you in parking lots about the click, the guttural, the correct number of forbidden consonants. My babcia says k’too-loo, wipes her hands on her apron, and asks if he is staying for soup. This is the pronunciation that has survived partitions, ration cards, and one very confused parish priest. I have retired my other versions.

She keeps, on the same wall, a holy picture and a small carved idol I brought her from a shop that pretended to sell souvenirs. The idol has more arms. The picture has better jewelry. They have reached an understanding, the way two aunts do at a funeral: they will not discuss politics and they will both judge your coat.

On diminutives

The secret weapon of the Polish language is not the cases. It is the ability to make the end of the world sound like it needs a sweater. Cthulhulek. Cthulhuś. I have heard her say both. The first time, a glass cracked in the cupboard and then thought better of it. The Old Ones can endure blasphemy. They are unprepared for affection with a suffix.

Eat. You are thin. The apocalypse can wait until after the soup.

She offered him kotlet schabowy. She offers everyone kotlet schabowy. It is her foreign policy. I do not know whether he accepted. I know there were leftovers, and leftovers in that kitchen are a theological statement: the universe may be hostile, but there will be a second plate, and you will take it home in a pot with a lid that does not match.

If you come to the house, wipe your feet. Address the picture first, then the idol, then the kettle. The kettle is the one that actually runs things. And if you must say the Name, say it her way. The stars will still be right. The soup will still be hot. You will still be told you are too skinny for a harbinger.

Recorded in the kitchen, third cupboard, while the bread cooled and something in the drain considered a career in music.