IRON AND OIL

FICTION BY ROBERT CRAIG

ONE

Musty and damp. At the bottom of the stairs. Feeling for the string in the dark. He fumbles for the basement light. A single bulb flicks on. 

He searches for the boxes labeled kitchen. He finds them neatly stacked in the corner, stored away after the accident, after it all happened. The cookware is on the bottom. Pushed out of mind and memory. 

Roy dusts off the box and carries it over to the light. Inside is the covered cast iron casserole. He picks up the lid. It's heavy. He places it back on top. It fits tight. He pulls out the pot by the two handles and carries it upstairs. 

In the kitchen, he looks it over. Still well-seasoned but showing its age. Decades of use. It was well cared for. He lowers it into the sink and with a tiny bit of soapy water, gently washes the top and bottom. Carefully holding it by the handles. Its weight is heavy in years. 

He preheats. After rinsing and drying, he places the pot and lid in the oven. Side by side. 

A short while, Roy returns and takes them out. With an old T-shirt and some oil, he slowly rubs the pot and lid. Massaging the cast iron, slowly restoring its dull shine. 

He places the lid on top. Stands back. He doesn't remember the last time his mother used it or what she cooked. But he smiles.

TWO

Roy says he wants that chili again. And Bruce says he doesn't have a pot to finish it in the oven. Roy points to the cleaned and seasoned covered casserole on the dining room sideboard. Bruce smiles, walks into the room and looks it over. Feels its heft and weight. Its seasoned sheen. Asks a lot of questions. 

And as Bruce chops his onions and peppers and chilies, Roy tells him about his mother's Sunday suppers. Sauces and stews, braises and gravies. How the whole house would smell. Every weekend like a holiday. His mother cooked with very few pots and pans. This cast iron casserole was the workhorse. Roy is pretty sure it originally belonged to his grandmother.

Bruce drizzles some oil into the hot cast iron. He watches the oil shimmer across the bottom of the pot. He slides in the vegetables. They sizzle. A burst of steam. He stirs. 

Oregano and hot pepper flakes. While he layers the flavors, Roy tells Bruce about his mother's obsession with never stacking dirty dishes. And how it was an ongoing family drama especially around the holidays. If you did it, she would glare. Roy pauses. His stomach sinks. He takes a deep breath. 

Bruce adds his spices and the rest of the ingredients. A sip of beer and he empties the bottle into the pot. Scrapes up the browned bits. A boil and then a simmer. He tops the pot with the lid and places it in the oven to cook for a few hours. 

Slowly smelling like a Sunday.

THREE

After dinner, Roy retires to the couch with the dog in tow. Bruce puts the leftovers in the fridge and stops and stares at the dishes in the sink. The stacked dirty chili bowls. So he rinses them off and sets them on the counter. Side by side. 

Runs his finger along the lid of the cleaned cast iron. Clicks off the kitchen light.