The dark recesses of this cucumber cool home felt soothing and inviting. It told me to go to sleep. Rest a while. Stay a while. Don’t leave yet. It had started to rain. Fat drops full of exploding loveliness wet our parched broken backyard stone slabs with a dark on light Pollock pattern, a modernist painting that then washed itself away. I reached out of the kitchen doorway to feel the heavy wetness of drops trailing off of the wooden frame. Ajji said it was time for cocoa. A treat. She took out the old tin with the fresh crumbly powder inside. I watched her, soft as dough, hands gently lever the lid off with the back of a bent spoon.  She sieved steaming milk into a wide lipped stainless steel bowl and mixed in some cocoa paste. Served in little steel saucers with upward walls, it was difficult to drink from without sloshing the rapidly cooling liquid. I perched on the bottom frame of the kitchen entryway facing the doorway that framed our wet backyard and slurped noisily from the saucer in my hands. The rain all around us created a cocoon of noisy quiet. Even today a cup of hot cocoa brings with it some rain, a steel saucer and my Ajji’s soft presence.